Harry Potter and the Tales of the Abyss
by Quatre Winner
Summary: The boy who would become Asch is, instead, whisked off to a world of magic. He's not happy about the situation and is determined not to become the mystical Harry Potter. All he wants to do is get home, but Dumbledore has other plans for him.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all! So, I said I wasn't going to post this until it was done. I decided that the first bit was long enough to be a fic of its own so here it is! I started writing this, oh, two or three or maybe even four years ago, I've lost track. I will be redoing the whole HP series but for now this is book one. The rest of the books won't be long enough to get their own fics, but I might put two or three in their own fics... but I digress.

This fic is a rewrite of the Harry Potter canon with Asch the Bloody cast in the role of Harry. However, due to the starting time of this fic, this makes the backstory for Asch in the game highly AU. This is also why, throughout this fic and all of the rest of them, Asch will call himself Luke. The Luke mentioned in this story is _not_ the protagonist of the game, so I hope there won't be too much confusion because of that.

So, warnings. We have kidnapping, imprisonment, and an unhealthy level of anger in a poor ten-year-old. I guess there are spoilers for Tales of the Abyss, although really you have to have played the game to understand why. There are _no_ pairings right now. I haven't decided which side of the fence to fall on, yaoi or het, and so I'll let Asch decide... when he's old enough to think about those things. That'll be many books in the future.

So, with all that said, I don't own Tales of the Abyss OR Harry Potter. I'm not making money off this. Really.

* * *

Thunder rolled above a fleeing figure as rain pounded down, muddying the soil protecting tree roots and shrubs. Sobbing tore through the forest, the small figure tripping over a sword as big as it was and stumbling to dirty black pants knees. Red hair caught in the wind, whipping into vibrant green eyes before being brushed back impatiently, revealing a jagged lighting bolt scar on a damp forehead.

The child, for it was a young boy clothed in red-edged black, stayed where he fell for a few brief moments, holding the sword close to him. His breath hitched slightly, twin trails of water down his cheeks having nothing to do with the rain meeting at his chin. He made a forlorn sight in the storm-torn forest, his small form blending into the darkness brought by the clouds overhead. The only spot of color lightening the whole scene was the chin-length red hair blowing in the sporadically violent wind.

It was only when the sound of hoofbeats made themselves known that the boy struggled to his feet, using the sword as leverage, and he took off running again, slipping in the muck between shrubbery and trees. The eyes that regarded the trail ahead of him weren't desperate eyes, however. They were cool and calculating, tinged with a despair that was held in check by a fierce will.

The boy made it out of the forest and took in a roiling ocean, white-capped waves pounding the cliffs ahead of him. Behind him the sound of horses grew louder, his pursuers catching up to him, and he took off running again, heading in the direction that he remembered should have a naval port. Once he got there, he could get passage back home, and he'd be safe again.

Hills stretched out to his left, the ocean to his right, and behind him Choral Castle fell away along with the hated room he'd been held, the man who'd held him hated more so. Once he got past the hills the border fortress should be near, and it wouldn't be much farther to Kaitzur, his destination.

But it was so far! And he'd been running for what seemed like hours already. His chest was burning from exertion, the arms holding the sword shaking from the weight of it. To make things worse, he could hear the hoofbeats behind him, so much closer now. If he'd dared to look back he would have seen the rider leaning forward into the wind, grimly chasing his young target, but the fugitive knew that to look back would end with him caught for sure. Thus he kept pressing forward, but each step became harder and harder.

The hoofbeats overtook him, the horse passing him and skidding to a stop bare feet in front of him. The child backed away, a fierce look on his face, even as he attempted to draw the sword that was so much bigger than he was.

"Luke, Luke, Luke," the man on the horse sighed, dismounting in one smooth motion and standing with one hand on his sword, the other holding the reigns of the mount. "You should have known better."

Luke bared his teeth at the man, drawn sword held shakily in weary arms. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks, and the food hadn't been very much better. "You'll pay for this indignity, you Malkuth traitor!" he spat.

"Is that any way to talk to your sword instructor?" the man reprimanded. "Foolish child! There's nothing for you to return to. Your parents have given up and moved on! What more should you have to do with them?"

"Lies!" Luke screamed. "I'm the son of Duke Fabre, the nephew of King Ingobert. I'm the future ruler of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear. They won't give up on me that easily!"

The man dropped the horse's reigns and advanced on the child, drawing his sword with much more ease than Luke. "Is that what you believe? Foolish Luke. If you must go on, then fight me! Win your freedom back."

It was a foolish game, Luke knew. His teacher was much larger than him and more skilled at the sword. Fighting him would mean capture again, returning to that room in his old vacation home. He took a few steps back and nearly careened off the cliff, a few rocks displaced by his foot plunging down the steep fall into the still-roiling waters.

"There's nowhere to run, Luke. Give up and return with me. I promise I won't harm you." The man held out a hand in invitation, but it was more like a curse to the child.

"Never!" the young noble cried, glancing around him. There were only the storm-drenched hills, the forest a few miles back the way he'd come, and the cliffs barring his escape. A more thorough study of the cliffs had him quickly considering his options, and he glanced back at his former teacher. "I'd rather die."

With that, he jammed the sword back into its scabbard, clenched it in one arm, and turned away from the older man. The water reached up to slam him out of consciousness and swept him away from his bleak reality.

* * *

Days later, the sun was shining warmly, and a worse-for-wear child stumbled slightly on the cobblestones leading up to the elevator that would take him to his manor, and his family. It was odd to him, though, that the citizens, surely having been alerted to his disappearance, hadn't made a fuss over his return. It made him resentful but all the more determined to get to his home. The sword was the only thing that drew odd looks as he entered the elevator, falling gratefully to the ground as it started moving upwards. Since his fall into the water at Kaitzur he hadn't rested very well, even on the ferry here where he'd had to work his passage, and it felt to him that every step may be his last. But he was in the home stretch, and he was determined. Nothing would stop him now.

The elevator halted at the top and it was with an effort that he picked himself back up and began the last leg of his journey. It had been so long since he'd been kidnapped, he was tired, and he just wanted to sleep in his own bed and assure his mother that yes, he was all right.

There! The manor was in sight. His heart lifted, joy filling him for the first time in weeks. He was home! Without him seeming to realize it his feet moved faster, pounding in joy towards the inviting walls of his home.

His joy was short-lived. Something appeared in front of him and he barreled into it, knocking the something over in a tumble of red hair and black cloth. He jumped upright immediately, backing away from the person he'd knocked over. Common courtesy, he knew, meant that he should apologize, but he wasn't feeling very courteous at the moment. He glared at the stranger, even as a few mumbling words reached his ears, identifying the person as female. The words made no sense to him, he realized irritably, so any apology he'd have felt inclined to make would have just been useless anyway.

The woman straightened her robes, things unlike anything Luke had seen before, and cast about until she located the child noble. She grinned and spoke a few more words, gesturing warmly, but all Luke saw was an obstacle in between him and his home. After she'd finished her speech she looked at him and waited expectantly.

"Move," he bit out. After a moment, when the woman hadn't obeyed, he added, "Please."

Still nothing. Of course he shouldn't have expected anything, she didn't speak his language. With a sigh and an irritable glance at the woman, he turned and went around the large fountain that graced the courtyard housing the entrances to the Fabre household and the castle where the Kimlascan monarchy lived. This route brought his house out of his sight, and he picked up his pace. Home was only a few short feet away!

Again, something black appeared in front of him, and this time he was able to stop short before knocking it over. A middle-aged man regarded him with a look that the child couldn't place, and the man knelt down and held a hand out to him, saying a few words. He still didn't understand, and he shook his head to tell the man that. Who were these people? Desperately he glanced around the man, where he could just see a hint of white armor, the knight guarding his front door. The man in front of him looked confused and hurt, but stood, addressing someone behind him, and Luke turned to see that the woman from before had come up and was looking at him in confusion.

"Who are you?" the child demanded, drawing himself up to his full height (which wasn't very much) and holding the over-sized sword as threateningly as he could manage. "What do you want with me?"

Without meaning too he'd backed away from the both of them, and the edge of the fountain at his back stopped him short. The two strangers said something else to him, the woman's voice reminding him sharply of the tone his tutors sometimes used on him and the man's calling to mind how his Uncle sometimes talked to him in private. They were talking to him, but the words didn't make any sense, and desperately he ran, ducking past the man's grabbing hands. His home was only a few feet away, and if he could get there, everything would stop.

The woman's voice shouted behind them, and he could feel fonons gathering, the magic particles unusually volatile. He didn't have a chance to think of it, however. Blackness suddenly filled his vision.

* * *

Another room.

Another locked door.

He wanted to scream at the indignity of it, the unfairness. Granted, the black-robed people had put him in a very nice room, with his own fireplace and bed, but they'd taken his sword from him, and he'd heard the lock click the moment he'd been left alone.

Luke had been kidnapped. Again. At least this time he was comfortable, and he could tell that his new captors didn't want to hurt him, but the fact was that he was a captive. It made him want to scream.

After spending hours scouring the room, searching for any hidden ways out that may have been overlooked, he'd flopped on the bed in defeat. The window was secure, he'd found, and somehow unbreakable, though he couldn't say the same for the chair he'd used to test that fact. He scowled at the offending pile of wood and turned his head away, glaring at the locked door that stood between him and his freedom.

Lying down on a soft bed was a luxury he'd grown to appreciate ever since his initial abduction, and he somewhat guiltily flipped over onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow. After having little more than rags for a bed, and then a hard bench on a ferry, he felt justified in taking a break from looking for a way out to try and relax. He thought about what was going on at home, what his mother could be doing. He knew she was kind of frail when it came to her health, so he could only imagine what sort of toll his disappearance had taken on her. His father, he felt, was scouring the whole of Auldrant looking for him, but of course he wouldn't find anything. Luke was locked up someplace he didn't even know, the view outside his window anonymous and alien, and even if he could figure out where he was, how would he get out?

He was trapped, he knew, and he could feel the despair settling in, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. No matter how he tried he couldn't stop them from falling onto the pillows under his face, and he curled up into a ball on top of the covers, shoes and all, sobbing dejectedly. That was all he could do until he finally slipped into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

Luke awoke to the sun on his face and feeling much better than he had before, aside from the tears that had dried on his face. He sat up, stretched, and yawned, surprised to find that someone had come in during the night and settled him in under the covers. The surprise turned to annoyance when he realized that he'd let a good opportunity to escape slip through his fingers, and that he'd slept through having someone else in the room with him. He got up and went over to the window, surveying the view morosely. It was unchanged, a forest in the distance with a hut right on the border. Again trying the window, he found that it was still locked, and he turned away from it in a huff, heading for the door. Surprisingly, the knob turned, and he cracked the door open and peered out suspiciously. There was only the same hallway as when he'd come in, a large, echoing hallway decorated with numerous paintings.

Now that he knew he could leave the room, he was suspicious. What were his captors up to? Shutting the door again most of the way, he retreated back into his room and looked around for anything that he could use as a weapon. The chair he'd broken last night was nowhere to be found, but another chair had taken its place, sitting between the bed and the wall. Without thinking twice he took hold of the chair and slammed it against the floor, breaking it into slabs of wood with nails poking out. After surveying the results, he chose one of the chair legs with fairly straight nails sticking out of the end.

Satisfied that he was armed as he could be, he once again went to the door and peeked out, finding it the same as before. Easing out into the hallway, he shut the door behind him and started down it, towards the stairs he could now see at the end of the hall. He didn't pay any attention to the walls until he heard a sharp voice from right next to him, where he'd been certain there hadn't been anyone before. With a startled cry he jumped backwards, bringing his chair leg up in front of him just like his sword.

A painted man looked back at him, expression surprised. Luke thought he'd gone a bit mad, hearing a voice from a painting, until the man turned away from him towards something in his painting, then back, saying something else with a frown.

"Sorry," Luke said, shaking his head and lowering his weapon. "I don't understand you."

What could make paintings move? That question stuck in his mind even as he made it to the stairs and descended, moving quickly when he had gone down two floors and hadn't encountered anyone. When he rounded a turn where more stairs met in a grand staircase leading down to the first floor, he broke into a run, seeing the end just in sight. There was a large set of double doors directly opposite the base of the stairs, and he dashed down the stairs two and three at a time, boots skidding on the polished stone. He didn't even pause when he hit the ground, pelting towards the doors and his imminent freedom.

He heard a shout from behind him and didn't pay any attention, slamming into the doors and tugging on them hard, trying desperately to open them. He heard footsteps behind him, the voice saying something else, but he didn't pay them any mind, so focused was he on trying to open the doors and make his escape. It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder that he reacted to it, knocking it away and slashing outwards with his chair leg. The nails tore long holes in a purple robe but left the wearer unharmed. Backing away, Luke sized up the other man.

He was a tall, elderly man, with a beard longer than any other the child had seen before. His silver hair was just as long, brushed back from an elderly face containing kind blue eyes behind gold glasses. He was dressed in purple robes, the sleeve of which he raised to examine the long rips caused by Luke's improvised weapon, but his voice was amused when he commented on it.

Luke glared at him. "Who are you?" he demanded harshly, not lowering the only weapon he had.

The older man tilted his head, studying him, before saying something else.

The child shook his head. "I don't understand!" He was getting frustrated now, and had already been angry.

The man raised his hands in a placating matter, speaking slower. It didn't make a difference to Luke, since it was the same gibberish from before, but this time he thought he could recognize individual words. The boy frowned.

"I still don't understand."

The man sighed visibly, then beckoned for Luke to follow him. Without seeming to care that the boy was armed and he was turning his back, the elder walked towards another door, another set of double doors embedded into the wall. Luke glared at him then turned away, once again focusing his attention on the doors he knew led outside. Grunting from exertion he tugged on the doors, alternately pushing and pulling on them, trying to get them open.

There was a chuckle behind him and the man walked up next to him, saying something else. Luke ignored him, standing back and remembering what little his teacher had taught him about fonic artes. He hadn't been taught much, since he figured his teacher didn't want him to learn too much and escape, but he had the theory in place.

Just like his teacher had taught him he felt for the fonons in the air, the particles of magic that formed the basis for fonic artes. There were plenty of them around, and he started drawing them in, focusing them and forming the spell he'd only read about in the books his teacher had given him.

The man, meanwhile, was saying something to him, but he wasn't paying any attention. Finally satisfied that he had formed the arte properly, he glared at the man, debating whether or not to warn him to move. After a second he decided that he wouldn't understand anyway.

The fireball was hotter than he'd expected but didn't singe him in the slightest, even as he directed the force at the latch on the doors. The man shouted in alarm and jumped back out of the way, but he ignored it, instead focusing on the last vestiges of flame still lingering on the doors. When they'd finally faded he reached for the door, throwing his weight on it to try and get it open. It didn't budge and he growled in frustration, pounding on the door with his fist. "Let me out!" he screamed.

The man cleared his throat, and Luke finally directed his attention towards him. He smiled at the child, then waved back towards the other set of double doors, saying something that once again went over the boy's head. Luke glared at him but, finding no other option, reluctantly followed the elder away from the doors into where he was wanted. What he saw made his jaw drop and, momentarily forgetting that he was there against his will, he stopped, totally enthralled. The ceiling was gone, replaced by an image of the sky outside. The closer he looked the more detail he saw, like birds flying back and forth and clouds drifting along, and it was absolutely stunning.

The man's amused voice brought him back to himself, and he fell into a ready stance, makeshift sword in front of him. The elder raised his hands again, clearly indicating that he meant no harm, but he didn't relax. A smell distracted him, though, trying to divert him from potential danger, but it was the most delicious food he'd smelled in weeks. His mouth started watering but he gulped and tried to stay steady. His stomach betrayed him, growling loudly in anticipation. The man chuckled and headed towards the smell, walking between two of the four tables that dominated the large room. Torn between the fact that he didn't want to be there and his stomach's protests, he stayed where he was for a long moment before reluctantly following behind the man.

Despite the fact that he obviously wasn't being understood the man rambled on, to the point that Luke tuned him out, looking ahead of them to another table, set up so that it was facing the other four. On it was set up a whole feast of food, some of which the boy recognized and some of which he didn't, but all of it looked delicious. When he got on the level of the table, he saw that he and the man weren't the only ones in the room. He recognized the two from before, the man and woman who had captured him in Baticul, and he was immediately on edge, his weapon once again jumping up. They followed the first man's lead, raising their hands to show their unarmed state, but he still sat down as far away from them as he could. The food smelled heavenly and it was so very tempting, but Luke didn't know who these people were. They could have been with Malkuth, wanting nothing more than to set up a situation where war was inevitable.

Despite all that, he was still so very hungry; his last meal had been on the ferry just before it had docked, who knew how long ago. So, he was cautious, watching the others carefully out of the corner of his eye, seeing which dishes they chose. Imitating them, he helped himself to the food that was before him, venturing close enough to them that he could help himself from their same dishes. There were some odd things on the table in front of them, though! Slightly unnerved, he decided to only choose dishes that he recognized. That limited him to eggs and bacon, and he didn't even touch the drinks as he nibbled, cautiously at first. Once he had had his fill of that he sniffed at the odd drink in front of him, smelling something deep and rich and slightly sweet. His hesitant sip brought an unpleasant explosion of flavors to his mouth and he not-so-subtly spit the concoction back out. Wasn't there any water in this place?

Farther down the table the adults seemed to ignore him, engaging in their own conversation, and after he'd finished his food Luke paid attention to them. He couldn't understand words, but he thought that maybe he could figure something out by their body language. He figured that if he could learn to understand them, then maybe he could get them to take him home. All he would need to learn was the phrase "Take me home, you bastards!"

Well, he could leave off that last part, he supposed.

Twenty minutes later he was ready to rip his hair out, but he kept that from showing on his face with great effort. He forced himself to keep listening, but ten minutes later he couldn't contain his impatience and got up. The others stopped talked to look at him.

"I know you can't understand me," he began. "I can't understand you either. So let's just start simple." He pointed at himself. "Luke."

They looked at him oddly. "Luke?" the elder man asked.

"Luke," he repeated, gesturing to himself. He then pointed at them. "Your names?"

They still looked confused, and he sighed. He was about to give up the whole thing as a lost cause when one of them spoke up. "Harry," the younger of the men said, pointing at him.

He looked at them oddly, then shook his head vehemently. "Luke!" he said viciously, clenching a hand at his chest. "You may have kidnapped me, you bastards, but you're not going to take my name from me."

The younger man looked like he was about to protest when the elder held up his hand, stopping him. "Albus," he said, gesturing to himself.

"Albus," Luke repeated, sounding out the odd pronunciation. The old man nodded. "So you're Albus, huh? Guess you're the leader around this place."

Albus only smiled and pointed at the other man. "Remus."

The other man perked up at the name, then realized he wasn't being addressed. "Remus," Luke said, sizing the other man up. He had faded brown hair, as well as worn-looking brown eyes set in a tired face. For being younger than Albus, he looked so much older, something that the child wondered at for a long moment. Then he remembered that these people were keeping him captive and he scowled briefly.

The woman looked at him with a measuring stare. "Minerva," she said, clearly enunciating her name.

She had a commanding presence, her silvery blonde hair done up in a severe bun and her stern hazel eyes reminding Luke of many of his tutors. He gave her a respectful nod out of habit.

"Minerva," he repeated, making sure to enunciate the syllables. She looked fairly pleased at him.

"So, Albus," Luke said, sitting back down in his chair, placing his chair leg in his lap, and leaning back with his arms behind his head. "What do you have in store for me? Am I a political prisoner until Kimlasca bows down to whatever twisted demands you have? Or do you just get your kicks out of kidnapping young boys?"

They couldn't understand him, but his tone was accusatory enough for them to get the gist of what he said, and Albus shook his head and said something gently. But of course the child couldn't understand, and he just glared hostilely at them. He couldn't escape, but that didn't mean he had to be entirely cooperative.

After repeating himself a few times to no effect, Albus sighed and stood, motioning for Luke to follow him. Luke, not having any other option with the only door to the outside he knew barred, stood up and trailed behind the old man, holding his chair leg in his right hand at ready. He was followed by Remus and Minerva, effectively blocking any escape he might have had. It was with a scowl that he noted that fact, even as they ascended the stairs and stopped in front of a statue. Albus said something to it, and Luke brought his weapon up when it jumped aside, revealing a set of stairs that lifted them to a wooden door. The older man opened the door and gestured for all of them to enter. Luke did so, chair leg at the ready, Remus, Minerva, and Albus following. The door swung shut behind them, Albus taking a seat at the desk set prominently amongst the clutter of bookshelves and tables full of odd gadgets. Minerva and Remus settled into chairs opposite the desk, leaving a third chair between them for Luke to sit. He didn't, preferring instead to stand behind them. He thought that maybe, if things still didn't go the way he wanted, he could make a dash for the door. The castle was large enough that maybe he could find an open window before they caught him.

Albus said something, which by now was getting annoying for Luke since he still didn't understand what he was saying, and pulled a long stick of wood out of his robe. The child raised his weapon, but the stick wasn't pointed at him. Rather, it was pointed at the top of a far bookshelf, and a tattered piece of cloth was pulled into view. Luke watched, very interested, as the cloth floated on air right over to him, and he reluctantly took it from the air and stared at it blankly. He looked up at the adults, not sure what exactly they wanted him to do with the cloth. Remus mimed putting something on his head, and Luke looked back at the piece of cloth until he figured out just what it was. It was a hat. A ratty, dirty old hat that looked like its best days had been seen years ago. With only a bit of hesitation, not seeing exactly what was so special about this hat, he pulled it over his head, keeping it from falling over his eyes.

"Some hat," he grumped. "It doesn't even fit."

_I'm not just any hat_, a voice said in his head.

He yelped, ripping the hat off his head with wide eyes. "It talked!" he spluttered, then scowled at their knowing looks. "You knew it too, didn't you?" Looking down at the hat, he glowered at it and put it back on.

_Sorry to startle you, dear boy, but the Headmaster asked me to have this little chat with you since you don't know English._

Luke scowled. _It'll be a short conversation. I want to go home._

_Why don't you talk to the Headmaster about that? As long as you wear me, you'll be able to understand the Headmaster, since I'm currently rooting around your head._

The child rolled his eyes. _Small problem. They can't understand me, either._

_I'll take care of that. Just ask your question._

Luke rolled his eyes. "So what am I here for, anyway?"

To his surprise, he felt the hat on his head vibrating slightly, and a voice issued from somewhere on top of his head. _You're just full of surprises._

Albus smiled, and as he spoke, the hat translated in Luke's head. "I see you figured out how to use the Sorting Hat. Well done."

"That does nothing to answer my question." Luke would have crossed his arms, but then the hat would have fallen over his eyes. He settled for placing a hand on his hip and glaring dangerously at the older man. "Why have you abducted me?"

"You're mistaken," Albus said, surprised. "You were abducted as an infant. I am merely returning you to your family."

Luke could only stare at the absolute insanity the old man had spouted. "What the heck are you talking about?" he sputtered. "You kidnapped me! I was on my way home, after I'd been kidnapped once thank you, and your lackeys Remus and Minerva nabbed me!" He pointed the chair leg accusingly at Albus. "I don't know what the heck you're talking about!"

Albus only smiled. "Seeing as you were abducted as an infant, it's really no surprise that you have no memory of your true family. However, I am a bit puzzled by your hair color." He waved his stick at Luke, and the red hairs obscuring the child's vision were suddenly jet black.

Lule brought his hair forward, aghast. "My hair's always been red!" he said, stroking the now-black strands. "How the heck did you do that? Change it back!" His chair leg clattered to the floor as he clutched his hair, tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. He could take being kidnapped, could take being held by others against his will. But the loss of the mark of his royal blood, the casual way that Albus had ripped that from him, was enough to make him feel helpless.

"This is your natural hair color," Albus said gently. "Perhaps you should give yourself time to get used to it-"

"No!" Luke yelled, stomping his foot for emphasis. He felt horribly like a petulant child and not the future king of a country, and that stung his pride a bit. He was, however, more upset about his hair color for reasons he was sure that Albus had to know. That was the only reason Albus would do that to him. He hadn't thought the older man could be so cruel. "My hair's red! It's always been red! Change it back!"

"Harry-"

"Luke!"

"- I know this is all a big change for you. Perhaps you should sit down."

"No." Luke wiped his eyes and drew himself to his full height, putting on as arrogant an air as he could manage while holding a hat out of his eyes. Maybe if he showed that he was worthy of the red hair Albus would change it back. "I am Luke fon Fabre, son of Duke Fabre, nephew of King Ingobert, and future heir to the kingdom of Kimlasca-Lanvaldear. I will not negotiate with people who kidnap me! Return me at once, and perhaps I'll ask my uncle to go easy on you."

"You were raised as a prince?" Remus spoke up, interested.

Luke huffed. "The son of a Duke, but I'm engaged to the princess. And, as if you don't know, the royal family of Kimlasca always has had red hair. I'm the heir! I need my hair to be red! And my hair's been red for as long as I can remember."

Remus looked a bit confused. "But if you're the son of the Duke, wouldn't that make the princess the heir?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "Seriously, have you been living under a rock? Princess Natalia has blonde hair, so she's pretty far down in the line of succession. I had red hair and I was the next closest relative to the King. So, I was made the heir."

Albus coughed. "I hate to contradict you," he said kindly. "But your name is Harry Potter. You're the son of Lily and James Potter, who were murdered ten years ago by a villain named Voldemort. On that night, your godfather, Sirius Black, spirited you off and it took us this long to track you down. Now we can reunite you with you family. Aren't you glad?"

Luke glared at him. "I've lived with Mother and Father for all of my life. You must have me mistaken for some other poor soul. Go find them and kidnap them. I just want to go home!"

They shared a heavy stare between them before Albus sighed. "I can see that we're not going anywhere with this. We'll return to that issue at a later time. Until then, would you like to know why else we've brought you here?"

"Not. Interested." Luke crossed his arms in a huff, forgetting for a moment that he was holding the hat, and it flopped into his eyes. He shoved the offending garment back up with a scowl. He was still tired from long days at sea and even longer days in a small hole in the wall and all he wanted was to go home, curl up in bed, and let his mother fawn over him.

"But surely the knowledge that you're a wizard is of some interest, wouldn't you say?" Albus asked, a kind smile on his face. Seeing that, and the lack of regret on Albus' face, made Luke wish he had his sword back. He fought his temper down, reminding himself that he would be a King, and Kings didn't give in to moments of anger. He did, however, retrieve his chair leg from the floor. Maybe they'd send him back if he tried to gore one of them, he considered morbidly.

"What's a wizard?" he asked instead. "Is that anything like a fonist?" Fonists could manipulate the fonons in the world around them and create different effects. He remembered how the first fonon, the element of darkness, had reacted before he'd been knocked unconscious that time. He knew that he himself was a seventh fonist, a rare individual that could control the fonon of sound to heal. He just had had minimal training, partly due to his young age and partly because Van had overseen his training.

"Wizards are able to use a wand to do spells," Albus explained, holding up his wand for emphasis. "It's nothing like that wandless magic you did earlier. Usually, when a young witch or wizard reaches eleven years old, they get sent a letter explaining about us and the school, but given the circumstances, I felt it best that we bring you to the school first."

"You mean kidnap me," Luke grumped.

Albus ignored the comment, instead rummaging around in a drawer that the boy couldn't see. "Let's see, where did I…? Ah, yes, here we are. I know you can't read it, but the Sorting Hat should be able to help you make sense of it." He held out an envelope to Luke, which the boy only hesitantly accepted, peering at the odd script at the front of it. In order to take the letter he had to stuff his chair leg under his arm. Obligingly, the Hat murmured the translation to him, loud enough to hear but not enough to be distracting.

_Harry Potter_

_Fabre Manor_

_Baticul_

_Kimlasca-Lanvaldear_

_Auldrant_

"You got everything right but the name," he said accusingly, turning the envelope over and breaking the wax seal holding it shut. The contents turned out to be several sheets of paper, which he looked at in interest before the Hat told him which he should read first.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term starts September 1st, and we await your reply by no later than July 31st. Please find enclosed a list of supplies, as well as information on how to get to the school. We look forward to seeing you there._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

"The way you've presented the letter makes the invitation to the school seem optional," Luke noted. He was to be the ruler of a whole kingdom, so he was learning how to read between the lines. He might not have been the best at that yet, but the sense of "invitation" meant that it could be ignored. It was with this in mind that he looked up at Dumbledore and placed the letter on the desk. "I decline. Send me home."

"We can't do that, Harry. Your aunt and uncle on your mother's side are officially your guardians, and they've already given permission for you to attend this school, as long as they never have to see you." Albus looked bemused at that, but shrugged it off and continued. "Therefore, you will be attending this school starting in a little over a month."

"Stop calling me Harry!" Luke burst out, slamming his hands on the desk. The hat, somehow, stayed precariously perched on his head, and he clenched his hands into fists, once again struggling to keep his temper in check. "Even if Harry is, as you say, the name I was born with, it's not the name I know! I don't know what you people think you are or what you're doing, but nothing gives you the right to kidnap a Duke's son! Score, you people are more depraved than Van! At least he was up front about why he really wanted me!" His name had meaning, after all. He was the Light of the Sacred Flame, Kimlasca's beacon towards prosperity. Losing that, in conjunction with his red hair… it was too much.

"There's just one problem, Dumbledore," Minerva spoke up for the first time. "Harry can't wear the Sorting Hat all the time once the term starts, and he obviously can't communicate without it. What are we going to do?"

"Leave that to me. Even with only a month he should learn enough to get by on a day to day basis," Albus said. "Is there anything else you need to know before I take the hat back, Harry?"

Luke scowled and clenched his mouth shut, glaring spitefully at the elder man. He refused to answer to a name that wasn't his! He couldn't control if they changed his hair, and he couldn't control that he was a prisoner. He could at least make sure they knew that he wouldn't stand for everything. The silence stretched on for a few more moments before, of its own accord, the hat spoke up.

"Headmaster, if you will, perhaps you should address Mr. Fabre as Luke for the moment. He won't answer to anything else."

"Thank you!" Luke burst out, feeling like he could kiss the raggedy thing on his head. "At least someone's making sense!" _Think you can help convince him to send me home?_ he asked the thing on his head.

_Sadly, that is one thing I cannot do. Much as there is a Score in your world, there is a prophecy concerning you here_, the hat said regretfully. _The Headmaster does have your best interests at heart. _

_What does my hair have to do with my interests?_ Luke demanded. _That's something that he has no right to change!_ It was a violation just as much as Van's cruel experiments had been.

_I will do my best to convince him. I agree that he had no call to just do something like that._ The hat, if it could have, would have sighed.

_Then what's my Score?_ Luke wanted to know. _Tell me that, at least! I have a right to know._

_The Headmaster feels that you're not able to handle knowing that right now. _The hat was regretful, but it felt like it agreed with the sentiment. _Maybe in time._

Unknowing of this mental conversation Albus pursed his lips, looking seriously displeased, and Luke fought the urge to throw his chair leg at the man. He was going to be a king, he knew the merits of diplomacy, and one of the last things he'd been learning about was compromise. Sometimes in negotiations, he remembered, each side had to give in just a little bit before a deal could be reached.

"Let's do this, then, Headmaster," Luke began, repeating the foreign title carefully. "If you will call me Luke, return my hair to its natural color, and give me back my sword, I will cooperate with you. I'll go to this Score-forsaken school, and I'll learn whatever it is you want me to. But at the end, you must promise to return me to my home." He stood up as regally as he could manage in rumpled clothes, with a hat on his head, but the image was spoiled when the hat again slipped down over his eyes.

Albus tapped his chin thoughtfully, then waved his wand. Suspiciously, Luke pulled a lock of hair forward, then grinned when he saw his normal red. What he felt went beyond happiness; it was as if the sense of self that Albus had been trying to steal had been put back right again. "When school starts, however, I will ask that you once again allow your hair to be colored black. Additionally, once school starts, your teachers will address you as Harry Potter, as will your classmates. Please answer to it."

"What does my hair color have to do with anything?" Luke demanded. "My hair is as it is, and it's been red my whole life. You don't have a right to tell me that I have to change it!"

Albus shook his head. "When you were born you had black hair, and everyone will be expecting you to have black hair. No one will know who you are if you have red hair."

Why would Luke want people to know who he was? "I don't care about what other people expect!" he said vehemently. "My hair is mine! I don't care that you think it was black, I'm not this Harry Potter person anyway. You have no right to change it!"

Albus opened his mouth to protest, then shook his head with a sigh. "I don't expect you to understand now. Just please trust me on this."

Luke glared. "I won't! Compromising means that both sides have to be willing to give a little," he quoted his tutors. "I'm trying to compromise with you, I'll do what you want me to do at this school. But I want my red hair, and I want you to call me Luke. That's what compromise is, right?"

"He has a point there, Headmaster," Remus spoke up after a moment. "It'd be like someone telling me that I had to give up my wand. I could do it for a while, but I really wouldn't want to. What's the harm in him having red hair, anyway?"

Luke would have given the older man a hug if he was the sort of kid who gave out hugs on a whim. Instead he settled for smiling at Remus. "Thanks," he said, and he was sincere.

Albus shrugged. "I will think on it. Until then, allow me to see if our terms are correct. You say that you will attend school with no complaints if, for the moment, we call you Luke and allow your hair to remain red. What of your sword? I really can't allow a child your age to be running around with a dangerous weapon."

Luke clenched his fists, praying to Yulia to give him patience, please. He felt drained after the long arguments; he felt the chair leg rattling against his leg and realized that his hands were shaking. "That sword is important to me. I must continue my training with it."

"Perhaps in a few years, when you are older. Until then, I will arrange to have a less-dangerous weapon delivered in its place."

A practice sword would be better than nothing, but it still didn't make Luke happy. But as it was, it was the only agreement they'd reached, and it was progress. Luke sighed, his exhaustion suddenly dragging him down. One good night's rest couldn't completely heal the exhaustion he'd suffered in the three weeks prior, and suddenly he felt like he was two seconds from having his knees giving way on him. Rather than suffer the indignity of showing weakness to these people who were holding him captive, he settled into the chair he'd ignored previously, burying his head in his hands. The Sorting Hat tipped forward slowly, saved from hitting the floor by Minvera's quick reflexes. Albus was saying something, but without the hat on his head he couldn't understand the man. After the phrase was repeated a few times, there was a sigh, and a hand was suddenly pressing itself against his forehead. He jerked back from it, startled, but it was only Remus, and the older man looked sufficiently sheepish as he rambled out some explanation.

"I don't have a fever," he said irritably, biting back a yawn. "I just haven't slept in days, haven't eaten anything good in days… oh and I was held in a hole in the wall and tortured. I don't have a reason to be tired at all. Really." He didn't mean to be snarky, but he knew he got irritable when he was tired. Right now he was beyond tired into exhausted.

The sound of books thudding to the desk drew everyone's attention back to Albus, who had the Hat on his head and was concentrating. The man waved his wand again, and another book thudded out to join the two already on the desk. Albus started talking again, and this time the Hat was speaking aloud, translating for Luke's benefit.

"The hat lifted the knowledge of your language from your head and allowed me to create this," Albus explained, placing a hand on the books. "They will allow you to learn English. If you study hard until the term starts, you should get proficient enough to get by."

Luke stood a bit shakily and reached across for one of the books, leaning most of his weight on one equally-shaky hand on the desk. _Writing: Ispanian to English_ greeted him, written once in the flowing script of his country, and again in English. His interest aroused, he reached for the next book: _Ispanian – English Dictionary_. And the last proved to be _Learning English_, written in familiar script. For the author, there was only the symbol of the Sorting Hat imprinted on the spines of all three books. Interested now, he opened _Learning English_, skimming the first few pages.

"He-" he said hesitantly, finger on one of the English words, the translation next to it in parenthesis. "Hello?" Glancing up, he saw Remus' grin, Minerva's proud smile, and Albus' amused expression. "I got it right, I guess," he mused to himself, trying to pick up the book. It slipped through his suddenly weak hands, thudding to the desk, and he leaned heavily against the desk. He hated his weakness, that he couldn't hide his exhaustion. He didn't want them to pity him, but at the same time he didn't want to pass out in front of them. That, he decided, was more humiliating than admitting his weakness. Albus asked him something, but his shook his head tiredly, glancing at the book to see if maybe it could help him, make Albus understand what was wrong with him. _Ispanian – English Dictionary_ proved to be more helpful, as he searched for a single word.

"Tired," he said wearily, sitting back down heavily. "Tired," he repeated, this time in his own language, as his eyes drifted closed and he felt Remus' hand on his forehead again, just like his mother had done on more occasions than he'd have liked during his childhood. Just thinking that made tears well up in his eyes, and he whispered brokenly, "Mother…"

He was too tired. He mistook the arms around him for those of his mother, and just the feeling of being safe, loved, warm… He let that warmth embrace him, stopped fighting the exhaustion grabbing him down.

* * *

He awoke to a white ceiling, Remus, Albus, and a strange woman's voice talking quietly in the background. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and glanced at the window, surprised to find that the sun was headed towards the horizon, heralding nightfall. Getting up proved to be no great task, as it seemed he'd regained much of his strength with his day of sleep. He was by no means completely rested, but now it felt only as if he'd stayed up late practicing with his servant, not spent a week fleeing for his life.

He found himself in what he guessed was a sort of hospital, as there were a lot more beds in the pristine white room, and all of them were unoccupied, which he supposed was a good thing in any case. The voices were coming from what he thought was a small office, though he peeked in only briefly and ducked out of sight before anyone could catch sight of him.

This was as good an opportunity as any, he mused as he quietly left the infirmary, to go explore the castle. If he could find another way out of the place, he could find his way back home, and then he wouldn't have to worry about wizards or learning to speak another language or anything of the sort. After all, he reasoned, he hadn't agreed to not try to escape.

The halls grew progressively darker as Luke set himself to his search, running down empty hallways and opening every door he came across, the ones that would open, in any case. There were times, bounding up the next set of stairs, that he lost his footing when one of the steps proved to be false, and even mentally mapping his routes was futile. Several times he'd backtrack when he found a dead end, only to find himself in a completely different part of the castle. It was frustrating, to say the least, to think he was on the third floor only to find that somehow, without climbing any stairs or taking an elevator of any kind, he'd ended up on the seventh floor. After the sun dipped below the horizon he realized he had no idea where he'd ended up.

"I'm starting to hate this stupid castle," he grumbled, leaning up against a wall. He usually didn't talk to himself, but then again usually he was surrounded by people and talking to himself would have looked weird. "I wish I had my sword, practicing would be nice. Master Van would be mad…"

Thinking of his sword instructor, what the man had done to him, sent a flood of anger through him, and he clenched his fist with a growl. " 'Master' Van, huh?" he said to himself mockingly, turning and pacing towards one end of the hallway. "Some master he is, kidnapping me… I wish I had my sword! I'll get better than him, just watch! And he won't be able to kidnap me ever again!"

He turned and retraced his steps, still talking to himself. "Stupid Albus," he grumbled, stalking past the same expanse of wall as before. "If only I could practice my swordsmanship! I'd make him take me back home!"

Reaching the end of the hall, he turned around again and stalked back the way he'd come. "And if only I could cast fonic artes… that fireball spell earlier was weak! I've seen fonists cast much larger spells than that," he grumped. "But I doubt that this stupid place has anything about fonic artes. Albus didn't know what I'd done…"

He reached the other end of the hallway and turned, ready to retrace his steps, when something caught his eye and he stopped, curious. Conscious of the fact that he wasn't armed, he crept down the hallway, towards something that had appeared in the previously blank wall. There weren't even any paintings in this hallway, which was something he'd found odd, but nice. Solitude wasn't something he'd had very often in his short life.

Reaching his destination, he stared blankly at the door that had appeared out of blank stone. "What the heck?" he asked, poking the wood curiously. It was solid under his finger. "This wasn't here before… what kind of magic is there in this place? Trick steps, halls that lead different places…"

Unable to help himself, he turned the knob and stepped through the door into a dark room. It wasn't dark for very long, torches suddenly lighting themselves to reveal a room that it took Luke a few moments to fully take in.

Racks of weapons were set against one wall directly to the right of the child, while opposite were shelves of books stacked high. In front of Luke, training dummies were lined neatly up against the wall, obscuring a raging fireplace but somehow not catching fire. In front of the dummies, there were several fur mats on the floor, which the child, upon investigating, found were soft enough to cushion all but the hardest of falls. They were the same kind of mats Van had used, he recalled, and though the memory brought about another bout of anger, it was soon overshadowed with glee.

Somehow, the castle had heard him, and he had the perfect place to train. He didn't know if Albus knew this room existed, but he didn't care, as he perused the racks and found a sword, then retreated to the middle of one of the mats and took his basic stance. It had been many weeks since he'd last had the chance to practice like this, but it didn't take long for the exercises to come back to him, and he didn't have the chance to think as he dedicated every part of himself to practicing.

Time became immaterial as he simply moved, working his way through every exercise he'd ever been taught, moving from the basics of slashing and guarding to more advanced parries against enemies that he invented, most of them bearing Van's body and swordsmanship but Albus' annoyingly kind and superior face. He took great pleasure in defeating every enemy he set against himself, and it was only the sound of voices outside his sanctuary that drew him back to the present, panting and sweaty but thoroughly satisfied. He returned his sword to the rack and went to the door, though he didn't open it. Instead, he pressed his ear against the thick wood, trying to figure out what was going on outside.

From this position he could clearly hear Albus' concerned voice, though of course he couldn't understand what the old man was saying, shortly joined by Remus'. After a moment of just listening to the two talk, and hearing the name "Harry" passed back and forth, he could only presume that they were looking for him, and that made him angry. They still didn't acknowledge him as Luke! Fighting back his anger and remembering the deal he'd made earlier, he opened the door and slipped outside, trying to figure out some way to remind the two men that his name was Luke and he wasn't going to answer to Harry. The door shut behind him, and, driven by an urge he couldn't explain, he turned back around, not very surprised to find that the door was no longer there.

"Harry!" Albus' voice exclaimed and, remembering the reason he'd come out in the first place, Luke scowled and turned back to the older man.

"Luke," he corrected irritably. "Didn't you say you'd start calling me by my name?"

All they understood was his name, he could tell, and he sighed. Two minutes of skimming through a book didn't mean he could recall anything about it off the top of his head. All he could try to do, he thought, was pantomime. The thought made him scowl and he wondered if his uncle had ever had to play charades with negotiators.

Just then his train of thought derailed, his stomach reminding him that he hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast who knew how many hours ago. "I'm hungry," he said, patting his stomach and hoping that the wizards would understand. Remus looked at him oddly, then pulled a book from a pocket that shouldn't have held it and handed it to Luke wordlessly. The child found that it was his dictionary, and, giving the helpful man a satisfied grin, he flipped through the dictionary until the found the word he wanted.

"Hungry," he said, sounding out the odd word. Flipping through the dictionary, he found another word and took a guess at its pronunciation. "Food?" he asked hopefully, looking up at the men. He felt less like the son of a duke and more like a child than he had in weeks, but his meaning was apparently clear.

"Food," Remus agreed, offering Luke his hand and saying something that the child couldn't quite place. Luke ignored that hand, and after a moment it was withdrawn. Albus led the way to the Great Hall, and Luke made sure to keep track of where they were going. He wanted to be able to find his training room again.

* * *

The next two weeks, weeks that were shorter than Luke were used to, were full of simply learning. He woke up in the same room as he had at first, ate breakfast, and was escorted by either Minerva or Remus to a large, spacious library, where he studied the books the Sorting Hat had made for him. After several hours of this, he would eat lunch, then sneak out to the corridor on what he'd learned was the seventh floor. He made sure no one saw him as he made his way, skirting the places where portraits were congregated, and spent the rest of each day holed up in his secret room, either practicing with one of the swords or studying one of the books the room provided for him. They were, thankfully, written in his language, and the topics ranged from swordsmanship to fonic artes to theory. He didn't even want to know how the castle had gotten some of these texts, and decided that not knowing was less important that taking advantage of the opportunity. After he'd exhausted himself with training, he'd return to the Great Hall for dinner, then drag himself back to bed, ready for the next day to come around.

Each day at lunch and dinner Albus or Remus would insist on talking to Luke, putting his very tentative language skills to test and he struggled to keep track of what they were saying and answer them properly. His vocabulary was growing rapidly, but putting together the words in the proper order was a bit of a challenge on the fly, especially when he found himself getting annoyed at the men talking to him. To his great relief they'd started calling him Luke, but it was obvious that it was a struggle for them, and he could see them constantly reminding themselves of his name. However, the child grudgingly admitted after a few days, having to actually converse with the others in their native language was actually helping him, and after he realized it he stopped getting annoyed at them for talking to him. That still didn't stop his anger when they slipped and called him Harry, though.

Two weeks after his second abduction, Luke came down to breakfast, like usual, to find Albus talking to an owl. It wasn't the strangest thing the child had seen in the last two weeks, but he hadn't thought that wizards actually talked to animals. That was bordering on crazy, in his opinion, but he refrained from commenting as he took his place at the table.

"Good morning, Luke," Albus said cheerfully, and for once there was no hesitation in his use of the name. "I trust you slept well?"

"I guess." Luke didn't feel like talking very much, instead focusing his attention on the plate in front of him. The owl's hooting was distracting, though, and though he'd been determined to ignore it he found himself asking, "What's with the owl?" He glanced at the older man, surprised to see a long, thin package on the table. He hadn't seen it coming in.

"Owls deliver mail," Albus replied, sounding amused. It was such an odd sentence that it sent Luke into his books to make sure that yes, he had heard it right.

"Owls deliver… mail," he mused, still a bit baffled. "I don't think I understand."

Albus chuckled. "It's always a bit of a shock when people find out. This owl delivered this package today," he said, picking up the object and passing it over to Luke. "I believe it's addressed to you."

Despite only understanding a few words out of that phrase, the child took the package, turning it over to check the address label and finding that, sure enough, it was addressed to him. Not to Harry Potter, but to him, Luke fon Fabre, and he couldn't help the satisfied grin on his face as he tore open the paper enthusiastically. A sword rolled into his hands, and his grin grew into a truly pleased one. He wouldn't be satisfied until he had his own sword back, of course, but at least Albus was keeping his word. Standing up from the table, he grasped the hilt in his right hand, the scabbard in his left, and drew the sword.

His happiness fell slightly at the sight of a blade of wood, not metal, but even so, the blade was the right weight, and a few practice slashes told him that when he couldn't get to his secret room, this sword was more than enough for him to train with.

"Thank you," he said to Albus, sheathing the sword again and securing it to his side. Rolling his still-limited vocabulary around in his head, he said carefully, "But I want my sword back."

"In time," the older man said reassuringly, then changed the subject with ease. "Would you like to go out today?"

Luke consulted his books to make sure that he'd understood Albus properly, then glowered at the man. "Go out? The door's locked!" He flipped through his book, skimming to find the proper words. "It's been locked for two weeks. I haven't been able to leave."

He knew he'd gotten them right when Albus looked sheepish. "Well… I didn't want you to run away," was all the explanation he'd give.

"Because you kidnapped me," Luke muttered under his breath in Ispanian, taking a bite out of his toast with more force than was necessary. Reverting back to English, he asked, "Why now?"

"Why am I offering to take you out?"

Luke had to look up the words, then nodded.

Albus started on a long and involved explanation, but the child only caught one word in five and it was too much trouble for him to flip back and forth for the words in his dictionary. He gave up after a moment and tuned the older man out, returning to his breakfast.

"Did you understand?" Albus asked after seeing no reaction from Luke.

"No."

"I can't make it any simpler," the wizard sighed. "I will just say that you will be staying somewhere else for the next two weeks."

Having to hunt for words, Luke grumbled as he once again started flipping through his book, was getting annoying very quickly. But doing so was expanding his English vocabulary rapidly, he had to admit, even through his irritation. "Where will I be staying?" he asked once he'd puzzled out Albus' meaning.

"With a friend," Albus replied. "We will meet him in two hours in Diagon Alley."

"Diagon Alley?" The words seemed more like a name than something he'd have to look up, and Luke was suddenly interested. "What's there?"

"Stores," Albus replied. "We'll buy you school supplies, as well as more clothes."

That didn't sound too bad, Luke mused. He'd been wearing the same clothes for two weeks, though somehow they'd been taken off to get cleaned and returned every morning to him. All the same, he wouldn't mind having something different to wear. "Robes?" he asked, indicating what the older wizard was wearing.

"Among other things." Albus pulled a pocket watch from his robes and glanced at the face, then stood. "You can gather what things you need, and I'll meet you in the front hall in an hour. If there are any books you want from the library, be sure to let me know."

Luke nodded, then ran straight upstairs, reassured by the weight of the wooden sword at his waist. He knew, by now, the path to his hidden room by heart, and the room seemed to know what he had in mind, a bag resting on one of the bookshelves. The young noble grinned and opened the bag, noting that there were already two books in there, one about strike artes and the other about fonic artes.

"Why does it seem like you know exactly what I have in mind?" he asked one of the training dummies for lack of anything better to address. Of course there was no answer, and he spent the next forty minutes looking through the bookshelves, selecting texts he thought may help him and stashing them in the bag. He knew he was only going to be gone for two weeks, but he didn't plan to sit idle wherever Albus dumped him. His sword training was the most important thing to him at the moment, because he thought that if he could become a good swordsman, he'd be able to escape and return to Auldrant.

He decided on three other books aside from the ones that the room had given him, stacking them in the bag and slinging them over his shoulder. Surprisingly, even with the heavy texts in them, the bag wasn't any heavier than the weight of the first two books, leaving Luke to once again marvel at what magic could do. With ten minutes left to meet Albus in the entryway he went to the door of his room and surveyed it fondly. It was the only thing that had made his stay in the oppressive castle tolerable.

"Thank you," he said to it, because it seemed like it could hear him. It was a strange feeling to think that the castle around him was alive, but it seemed to have some kind of awareness. Therefore, it felt proper to Luke to thank the castle for helping him.

He didn't get an overt answer, but the fireplace burned just a little brighter, and he grinned before turning and leaving. The door clicked shut behind him, and he knew that if he turned around that the door would be gone, as it always was.

Despite everything that was happening, the fact that he was a prisoner and his fate was in another's hands, Luke made his way to the entrance hall in a cheerful mood. Maybe it was because he had an ally, as unusual as it was to think of. He'd never believed that a whole castle could be sentient and yet here this one was helping him, seemingly behind the back of the one who owned it. The inanity of it was enough to keep him sufficiently amused. After a quick stop by his room to pick up his three other books he made his way to the entrance hall.

Albys looked down at his satchel as he walked up, taking in the weight of it. "What books did you take?" he asked conversationally.

Luke shrugged. "Books about magic," he didn't quite lie, looking straight at the elder man. They locked gazes for just a moment before Albus smiled.

"Shall we go, then?" the elder asked.

To get to Diagon Alley, Luke found, required taking a carriage pulled by odd skeletal horses. Once they reached the gate several miles away Albus stuck out his wand and a fon machine Luke had never seen the likes of popped out of nowhere in front of them. Luke kept his questions to himself, instead looking out the window as the vehicle moved at blinding speeds.

Luke found his attention captured by the hidden city he realized was Diagon Alley. After getting off the thing he learned was called a bus he saw the strangest things for only a brief moment before being ushered inside a dingy pub whose name he didn't catch. There were more fon machines running around, seemingly not noticing the bus even as it sat across half of the road, and the buildings went up so high! He had to be ushered inside, so captivated by the sight was he. Once inside he found himself being introduced to a man named Arthur Weasley and his four sons Percy, Fred, George, and Ron. All five boys were lanky with red hair and a spattering of freckles covering their faces, dressed in threadbare clothes.

"It's nice to meet you," he greeted politely, bowing formally as well. "I am Luke fon Fabre, even though Albus," and he shot the man his dirtiest look, "says my name isn't."

Albus didn't seem contrite in the slightest. "Arthur, I'll leave him in your care. Mr. Potter, I'll see you in September." With that he walked to the fireplace and vanished into it, leaving the young noble to blink a bit before shaking his head.

"So, Harry," Arthur said with a smile, though it shrunk a bit at Luke's glare. "I'm sorry, but the Headmaster is insisting. I think you should be called whatever you'd like."

Luke's language skills really were improving, he mused, even as he purposely intensified his glare. "Albus doesn't have to know. And really, why does my name matter so much?"

Arthur shrugged. "I'll tell you when we get to my house, too many listening ears around here. So! We're here to get your supplies for the school year, so let's get going! Ron's starting this year too so it won't be a bother at all. First we'll go to your vault, Albus made sure to give me the key…"

Luke tried to stay at the end of the line, hoping for a chance to slip off, but Arthur insisted that he stay right by his side. Rolling his eyes he played along, one hand on the hilt of his wooden sword as he followed and ignored the two boys trying to get his attention.

They arrived at a white marble building and, after speaking to creatures Luke had never seen before, they delved into the massive depths that was Gringotts Bank's underground vaults. The noble didn't know what to think about the cart that flew at breakneck speeds, but he held on grimly and waited until they were at a vault to stagger out and catch his breath. It took all of his will not to throw up his breakfast and he was silently cursing the wizarding world's crazy transportation methods.

His vault was impressive, stacks of gold and silver coins piled nearly to the roof with some bronze thrown in for flavor. He scooped several handfuls of the coins into a pouch provided by the goblin who'd escorted them and climbed back into the cart without any fanfare, the coins jingling as they swung around on his waist.

Once they were back in sunlight and Luke stopped being dizzy he dutifully followed Arthur to a store called Ollivanders. Only he and Arthur went in, the four Weasley children taking five lists and splitting up after Luke gave them a handful of gold coins to cover the costs.

He stormed out of there what seemed like forever later, utterly irked at the elder wandmaker's insistence upon calling him by the name he hated. Arthur was left apologizing for the destruction that Luke had "accidentally" caused with the wands he'd tried while the young noble stalked down the block.

He was too angry to even contemplate sneaking away until he caught Ron coming out of a shop, a bundle of cloth in one arm and one of the lists in the other.

"Oh hey mate," Ron said distractedly, attempting to mark off something on the list with his burdened hand. "I've got Percy's robes, the rest of us get to use his old ones, but you should get yourself fitted too. You can't go around Hogwarts wearing that."

Luke didn't really care and wondered if he could be expelled from the school for not having the uniform. He didn't have a choice when Ron turned him around and shoved him inside, his arm immediately caught by a woman. He growled a bit at his sudden manhandling but she paid him no mind, instead ushering him up onto a stool and sweeping a long black garment over his head. Finding himself thoroughly trapped, he had no choice but to stand there and let the woman poke pins into the fabric. It wasn't something he was unused to, as he'd had several suits made up for him for special occasions back home, and the reminder had him thinking of his mother again.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the blonde on the stool next to him until the other cleared his throat. "You're going to Hogwarts too, then?"

Luke shot the blonde a glance, weighing his options, before deciding what the heck. "Yes," he answered, voice not quite ice. It was the least hostile tone he'd used in the last two weeks.

"What House do you think you'll end up in, then?" the blonde wondered, tugging lightly at the sleeve of his robe. Luke looked at him more carefully, recognizing the tone of voice of one raised to nobility. The blonde was his age, with hair slicked back from his forehead and pale eyes, his slight build hinting that he might not have much muscle under his robes.

"House?" he asked curiously. He thought Remus might have talked about Houses during his stay but he didn't understand the context.

"Where _are_ you from?" the blonde wondered. "You have a funny accent. You don't know what Houses are?"

Luke shrugged. "No one told me about them." He thought about telling the other that he had been kidnapped by a crazy old man and held against his will but the other was speaking again.

"I hope I end up in Slytherin," the blonde drawled, glancing out of the window and then at Luke. "Father says that it's the best House. I do think I'll have to run away if I end up in Gryffindor!"

"What's wrong with Gryffindor?" Luke wondered, his interest piqued now. Maybe he wouldn't end up in any House and Dumbledore would have no choice but to send him home.

The other boy snorted. "They're idiotic, stubborn, and a den of fools. Even Ravenclaw wouldn't be so bad."

"And Slytherin?" Luke prompted.

"Smart, cunning, and sly." The boy looked proud. "Father was of that House too." The woman working on his robes gestured for him to take them off and he shrugged out of them, hopping gracefully off of the stool. Straightening the muted blue robes he had on underneath he walked the few steps over to Luke's stool and held out his hand. "Draco Malfoy."

It took Luke a moment to realize that the other boy had introduced himself, but once he did he shook Draco's hand. "Luke fon Fabre."

"I must go, but I do hope we can be friends. I'll see you on the train to Hogwarts!"

Bemused, Luke watched Draco leave just as Arthur hurried in, looking worried until he caught sight of the noble. "There you are!" the man said, relief more than evident in his voice and face. "Don't wander off like that, Professor Dumbledore would have my head if I let you run off."

Luke scowled, shrugging out of the robe and stepping off of the stool. He didn't understand the odd phrase that Arthur had used but his tone of voice clearly indicated dire consequences. "So I'm still a prisoner."

"You're not!" Arthur insisted. "It's just dangerous for you to be wandering around on your own."

The noble said nothing for the rest of the day. After he paid for his robes he glowered at Arthur's back as they visited other stores, not really paying attention to the pile of purchases that he and the other four boys were accumulating. His stack was much greater than the others', he noticed as they finally left Diagon Alley for the Leaky Cauldron.

"Ah, Hagrid!" Arthur greeted, waving towards a giant of a man sitting at the bar. Dressed in hides and with his long hair wild and unruly Hagrid was the largest man Luke had ever seen. "What brings you out today?"

"A mission from Dumbledore," Hagrid answered, waving a cloth-wrapped bundle that he tucked carefully into his pocket. "He needed me to clear out a vault for him, an easy mission. What about you?"

"I'm escorting young Mr. Potter around," the elder Weasley replied, setting a hand on Luke's shoulder. The noble scowled and shrugged it off with a glare.

"Fabre," he enunciated clearly. "Not Potter."

"So this is Harry Potter," Hagrid whispered, looking him over with a critical eye. "I thought he had black hair?"

"A spell," Arthur sighed. "Professor Dumbledore will have it fixed by the school year."

"My hair's always been red!" Luke protested, his already frayed temped affecting something in the air around him. No one paid him any mind.

"I see." Hagrid grinned at him, brushing back the hair from the child noble's forehead with a surprisingly gentle touch. This brought Luke's scar into view and the giant looked at him oddly. "And there's the famous scar. Do you know how you got it?"

Luke waited a moment, expecting Arthur to answer. When the elder didn't he rolled his eyes. "So you'll finally listen to me, huh?" he asked, voice dripping with contempt.

"Don't be like that," Arthur admonished.

Luke gripped his sword, the act helping him keep a hold on his temper. "I will be 'like that'. No one's listening to me except when they want to. I have every right to be angry."

Only then did people notice the sword strapped to his waist, something that the child found odd. "Ha-Luke," Arthur sighed. "Let me get my children on their way home and we'll have a bite to eat. I promise I'll explain then."

Ten minutes later Luke, Arthur, and Hagrid were settled around a table tucked away in the corner of the pub, a plate of food in front of each. The adults were sipping from glasses that smelled strongly of alcohol while Luke settled for water.

"I'm surprised Dumbledore didn't tell you," Arthur sighed. "He said English isn't your first language but really, you've been doing fine today. He could have explained this to you."

Luke scowled. "I've been guessing," he admitted. "Some of the words I don't know, but I can figure them out from the context. Mother always said I was the brightest child she knew."

Arthur nodded. "Let me know if you don't understand something, then. I'm sure he's told you of your real name –"

"My name is Luke fon Fabre," the one named retorted. "Real or not. It is the name I know and the one my mother chose for me. I do not know anyone named Potter."

Arthur waved his hand. "When school starts the Headmaster is adamant about you being called Potter. I'm sorry, but you should get used to it. Anyway, what he didn't tell you is why it's so important. You see, Harry Potter is a famous figure in the wizarding world."

"Not like the son of a Duke?" Luke was well-known among Kimlascan royalty for being engaged to the princess.

Hagrid jumped in. "You're the only person to survive the Killing Curse!" the giant said enthusiastically. "Your parents were killed by You-Know-Who, everyone knows that. But when he tried to kill you something happened."

"The curse rebounded," Arthur continued. "You-Know-Who vanished, presumed dead, and your godfather spirited you off to who knows where. Only his testimony assured us that you were alive and for the last ten years we've been searching for you everywhere."

"And who is 'You-Know-Who'?" Luke wanted to know, even as he assured himself that his mother and father were alive and well.

"Only the most feared Dark Lord ever!" Hagrid blurted. "Anyone he wanted dead, died. Everyone except for you. That's how you got that scar, Black told us about it. When he found you in the ruins you had a cut on your forehead like a lightning bolt."

Luke fingered the scar, tracing its familiar shape. "Mother said I got it when I tripped and hit my head."

"Anyway, that's why you're famous. Stories have been told about you all over the wizarding world, about Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore wants you to fit the image people have crafted of you, and the fact that you have black hair is very important. With your red hair no one will recognize you."

"I think I'd prefer that," Luke grumbled under his breath in Ispanian. "Why doesn't he ask me if I want to be famous?" he asked in English. "I've already argued with him about my hair, I hope he doesn't change it black again. People will have to know me for me."

Neither adult had an answer to that and he sighed, swallowing the last few bites of food and standing. "I'm finished. I have only one last request. I would like to know the name of the one who killed the Potters."

"We, er, don't speak his name," Arthur said uncomfortably, glancing at Hagrid. "It's considered bad luck."

Luke stared at them icily. "Then write it down. I've learned enough of your letters to understand it."

"Can't spell it," Hagrid sighed. "Listen close, I'll only say it once. His name was Voldemort."

Another odd name, Luke grumbled. "Voldemort," he repeated, testing the sound of it on his tongue.

Both men shuddered at the mention of the name. "Best to call him You-Know-Who around other folks," Arthur advised. "Even though he's dead people are still scared of him and even that name will make them uncomfortable."

* * *

There's more to come, don't fret! This fic will cover ALL of the first book. Reviews are loved and appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the second part and final part of the first book. I'm not trying to go through every detail of all the books, but I am trying to hit the high points. You'll notice that there's no mention of Quidditch in this story - that's because Luke's seriously _not interested_ in it. In a later book, we'll see, but in this book all Luke wants to do is get home. Just thought I'd clear it up because people might be wondering. Also, the only reason I went with Philosopher's Stone in this fic is because of FullMetal Alchemist love. There won't be a crossover with that from me, but just the idea of it makes me giggle.

Just in case people forgot, in this fic Luke = Asch. This is because the wizards grabbed him before Luke saw the reason that he took on that other name and Van isn't exactly around to tell him. This'll make the reveal later on that much more interesting, right?

So, the usual. I don't own HP or TotA, I'm not making any money from it, etc etc. Minor warning later on for blood, and Luke's still a bundle of anger.

* * *

Luke spent the next two weeks dodging the horde of people at the Weasley house, secreting himself where he could to study the books he'd collected from Hogwarts. It was hard, the odd storybook house a lot smaller than it looked from the outside. Ron was also an annoyingly constant presence, the other boy seemingly intent on befriending the Fabre heir. He tolerated the other boy as long as all he did was hang around, resulting in his sword training having an interested audience more often than not.

When he wasn't training he worked on learning English. As much as he hated to admit it he figured it would be easier on him, and only understanding half of the conversations around him was getting rather annoying. So, when he was too tired to swing his wooden sword anymore, he secreted himself in the room he was forced to share with Ron and pored over his textbooks.

Another thing that annoyed him was the way Molly Weasley insisted on mothering him. He had a mother, he assured himself. He wasn't the orphan everyone was trying to paint him as so he didn't need a strange woman trying to be his mother. He withstood her hugs with tightly controlled anger and brushed off all other contact.

It was like this, avoiding everyone when he could and with his head buried in his books, that he passed the time. It was the night before he was to leave for Hogwarts when he came into contact with Albus once again.

He was coming in from outside, sword over his shoulder and shirt around his waist, when he saw Albus in the living room talking with the Weasleys. Scowling, he made to head upstairs but was stopped by the older man calling his name.

"At least you got my name right," he grumbled under his breath, sheathing the sword and walking over to the adults. He really wished he could have showered first.

"As you know, school starts tomorrow," Albus started. "You remember our agreement?"

"You want to change my hair color," Luke replied levelly. "Because people won't recognize me as Harry Potter otherwise." He'd stopped protesting his supposed identity after he'd begun dreaming of screaming and a green light, confirming through his own research that the dreaded Killing Curse was green in color. It was a far cry from truly knowing if he was indeed this Harry Potter fellow but, as he'd been having those dreams since he was very young, he figured he ought to give them the benefit of the doubt.

"I have been thinking of your arguments," Albus sighed. "I've been trying to decide on a satisfactory solution to this quandary. On the one hand, your natural hair color is black. On the other, according to you, you've never had black hair. So, I have been trying to decide. Should I force you into a hair color that you don't acknowledge as yours, as I have been with your name? I will not revise my decision on your name, but perhaps your hair color isn't as important. You've already been around Diagon Alley with red hair and no one had a problem believing that you are Harry Potter."

"I don't want people to recognize me as him," Luke said exasperatedly. "But I really don't want you to change my hair color back. However, we did have an agreement. I'm honorable enough to hold up my end of our bargain." Not that he was thrilled with the prospect of having his hair color changed again. Even just those few moments in Dumbledore's office had felt as if his whole life had been stolen from him, rendered meaningless.

"I believe that you would hold up your end of the bargain. For that, I have underestimated you. That's why I have had such a hard time coming to a satisfactory solution." Albus stood. "I've come to realize that you have been forced into so many changes already, and having black hair is such a minor detail. Therefore, I will not ask you to have your hair changed again."

Luke relaxed visibly. He hadn't realized how tensed he'd been until that moment, when the relief he felt had almost had him falling over. He smiled at Dumbledore, the first such expression he'd gifted the elder wizard. "Thanks," he said sincerely. And then he asked the question that had been bothering him all this time. "Headmaster… why does it seem like I'm learning English a lot easier than I should be?" For he was, he'd realized a week ago. He'd been studying Ancient Ispanian for as long as he could remember and was still barely proficient at it. But with English, he'd already progressed to full conversations within only a few months of beginning to learn it.

Albus smiled. "There is a spell that is usually frowned upon in learning situations, for the knowledge it helps one to gain is never retained as long. I cast that spell upon your books to ensure that you would be proficient by the beginning of the school year. However, I engineered it such that the spell will weaken slowly over a period of time until it fades completely. Despite your skill with English at this time, you should continue to study. If you reinforce your knowledge when the spell has faded but before you lose it, then you should learn it naturally."

That… was a long-winded explanation. "So basically, magic did it. It's a double-edged sword, though, and practice makes perfect?" Luke guessed.

"Precisely." Albus glanced at his watch. "Now I really should be going. School doesn't start itself, after all."

* * *

"Write us often!" Molly's voice called after Luke as he dragged his trunk onto yet another new fon machine, what he learned was called a train. The engine was bright red, many cars attached to the end of it, and children were piling into the cars en masse.

Ignoring the woman's voice he boarded the train and sought a room to himself. He found one towards the end of the train and as soon as he was inside he locked the door, securing his trunk in the overhead compartment with some effort. That done he flopped into the seat, glaring out of the window and ignoring the occasional noise of someone trying the door to his compartment. Fleetingly he wondered if Draco was also on board.

The train pulled out of the station at exactly 11 o'clock, leaving behind tearful parents. Luke watched the scenery change from unfamiliar city to wilderness, reveling in his solitude and wondering why, exactly, he was being forced to do this. Even though he had managed to keep his hair color, the fact was that he was being held away from his parents in a foreign land that, it seemed, had never heard of Kimlasca or Malkuth or Daath. Though he'd promised to go to this school, he was still a prisoner. He hadn't managed to think of a reason for that beyond the mysterious prophecy the hat had mentioned.

That was another thing that puzzled Luke. Albus, Minerva, the Weasleys, none of them had ever head of Yulia's Score, the prophecy guiding the planet to prosperity. Its lack was another glaring difference between this place and home, but if there were prophecies here, why didn't people know about them?

Trying to think about it hurt Luke's head.

He was shaken out of his reverie by an insistent knock at the door. Prepared to glare away the innocent children seeking a room he instead found Draco Malfoy staring haughtily at him from the other side. He scrambled up to let the blonde in, blinking at the two other boys that followed.

"Malfoy," he greeted, settling back into his seat with a hand on his sword. "I was hoping to see you again."

"Fabre," Draco greeted. "Same here. These are my friends Crabbe and Goyle."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me, but they look like bodyguards. Are you in some sort of trouble?"

Draco scowled. "They're my friends, and if they happen to beat up a few Gryffindors, so what?"

Maybe, the former redhead sighed, he'd made a poor choice in picking friends. This was a friend Albus had no say in, however, so he'd make an effort to educate this boy. "And here I was thinking you were raised a noble as I was. If you are strong you don't need bodyguards." That was what he'd grown to believe, training under Van. If he was strong enough to defend himself then he would be free to go where he wished. Not that he'd wanted to do anything but marry Natalia and build a peaceful world with her.

The blonde's face darkened. "Are you calling me weak?"

Luke kept his face neutral. "I am only saying. A noble doesn't permit his servants to bully those weaker than them. A noble's job is to protect their subjects from those who would oppress them. Father is well liked by those under his protection."

"And if they deserve it?" Draco asked sardonically.

"Then the matter is settled with a proper duel," Luke replied. "That is the custom of our nobility."

The blonde snorted, waving his hand. "Whatever."

Luke spent the trip talking to his new friend. He learned that the elder Malfoy was a well-known, if not respected, member of wizarding high society and Draco was on his way to being the other's heir. The more he talked with Draco the more he was reminded of some of the lower members of Kimlascan nobility, those that were power-hungry and greedy. He'd had the misfortune of spending much time with them during family gatherings and thought, perhaps, that with Draco he'd caught the other early enough to do some good. That was the only reason he continued to talk with the other, continuously debating topics and ignoring the hulking boys that cracked their knuckles threateningly whenever their master was displeased.

When the train horn sounded Draco finally stood. Despite their long and heated debate he didn't seem cross. "It was nice talking to you," he said, and it sounded like he meant it. "Good luck at the Sorting."

Luke stood as well, offering a bow. "You too. I hope you get the House you want." He'd finally wrangled an explanation of Houses out of the Weasley twins.

Alone once more he turned to his trunk, pulling on his school robes over the clothes he'd had since he escaped from Van what seemed like ages ago. He had other clothes now, strange fabrics in stranger styles. He didn't dislike the clothes, but the set he was wearing was the only thing he had left from his home. They were a comfort.

He was figuring out how to make his sword accessible when he was startled by the door opening. A girl blinked at him, her bushy brown hair pulled back from her head and her eyes an intelligent brown. "Have you seen a toad?" she asked him.

What an odd question. Luke shook his head, bemused. "Sorry, no."

"Oh. Neville's lost it. If you find it can you bring it to him?" With that she dashed off.

Finally getting his sword into some semblance of order Luke fished out his wand, wondering where in the world he was going to hold it. He found, after some searching, that the robe had a pocket that it fit into nicely.

It wasn't too much longer until the train pulled up at the station Luke remembered passing on his ride out of the castle. Children piled out of the train and onto the platform, leaving their trunks behind. Luke followed their lead, stepping down gracefully and looking around for the carriages.

"First years over here!" Hagrid's voice bellowed over the din. The noble followed the sound of it until he saw the giant man standing on a dock, many boats rocking on the water behind him. "All first years come on this way, now! We've got to get you lot ready for Sorting!"

"We're riding in the boats?" Luke asked him, having to strain his neck to look up at the man.

"Yessir. Climb on in, that's a good lad, and once we have everyone we'll be on our way!"

It took about twenty minutes to get all of the first year students into the boats. Luke ended up sharing his boat with Ron, though thankfully the other was too in awe of the castle before them to make small talk. Not that Luke particularly disliked Ron. The other had a keen mind under his insecurities and routinely trounced the noble in the odd game he'd called chess. No, what bothered the child noble about Ron was the way he was trying to force himself to be friends, as if someone had told him he should. Luke had no doubt that Albus had his hand in that. So, until Ron decided whether or not he truly wanted to be friends, Luke was going to keep his distance.

The boats pulled up at an underground dock somewhere under one of the towers. Luke climbed out, ensuring Ron did the same without mishap, and stayed at the back of the line until Hagrid had left and Minerva had taken his place at the head of their little group.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wiardry," she began. "In just a few moments you will be Sorted into your Houses. While you are here your Houses will be like your family. You will win together, and lose together. Your House will have your back no matter what happens. I trust you all to remember that as you begin your schooling."

Luke suppressed his snort.

"Now follow me, everyone, and I will take you to meet the rest of the students." Minerva turned and led them through the halls, Luke at the very back of the line. He was prepared to be cross for the rest of the night when someone poked him none-too-gently in the arm and shook him from his dour thoughts.

"Why the sour look?" Draco asked him, this time not flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "You look like your house elf just sat on the pie you were going to eat in just a few moments. I've had that happen, you know."

The noble sighed, wondering when he should bring up the fact that he was the only person in the school willing to call him by his name. Instead he shrugged and asked, "Where're your friends?"

Draco looked… Luke couldn't place the other's expression but it looked sheepish and thoughtful and so many other things. "I was thinking about what you said, about hiding behind bodyguards, and you were right. I want people to fear me, not the people around me."

It was a start, the child noble thought, heartened. "That's good. I didn't fancy being your friend with those two giants hanging around."

They arrived at the Great Hall and for the first time Luke saw it as it should have been, the four tables packed with children while the staff was at the high table carefully watching them. He didn't pay the enchanted ceiling any mind, instead eying the Sorting Hat that was set up on a three-legged stool in front of them. He wondered if the Hat would still call him by his true name.

As he sat and watched it, the rip that served as the Hat's mouth opened up and it sang, a song about the four Houses and all of them uniting. It really didn't bother the noble, since he didn't plan on being here long enough for that. Dark Wizards aside, he was under the impression that the wizarding world should solve its own problems. Kimlasca certainly never had help from a legendary hero, even if he himself was named "The Light of the Sacred Flame."

After the song Minerva strode out next to it and unrolled a long piece of parchment, calling out a name. Thus began the long process of Sorting the children, which Luke soon learned involved putting the Hat on your head and letting it judge your character. He wondered where he'd end up as Minerva passed the Fs, no Fabre being called to the front. Despite knowing it would happen he scowled.

He tuned out the long list of names until the Ms rolled along and Draco was called to the front. He watched the blonde as he ascended and put the hat on, expecting the Sorting not to take very long. Draco knew where he thought he wanted to go, even if Luke had severe misgivings. It was a surprise, then, when Draco's Sorting took long enough for the whole hall to begin whispering.

It seemed like hours went by and the hat finally opened its mouth. "Ravenclaw!" it declared in a loud, proud voice. Draco looked stunned, sitting there with the hat still on his head until Minerva took it off and nudged him off the stool. Woodenly he walked to the Ravenclaw table, sitting at the end and speaking to no one. Luke felt a bit sorry for him; he knew how important being in the Slytherin House was to the blonde. At the same time, he was a bit glad for that; Crabbe and Goyle had been Sorted into Slytherin and, if those two were any indication, that House wasn't what he wanted to have anything to do with.

So caught up in watching Draco, he hardly noticed it when the name "Potter, Harry" was called. That reminded him of his own predicament and he scowled, so very tempted to just turn around and find his hidden training room again. That would certainly get him expelled and Albus would have no choice but to send him home.

But, looking at Draco, Luke couldn't help but feel that the other's Sorting was his fault. The sense of responsibility that had been drilled into him since he was old enough to understand was what prompted him up to the Hat. Whispers followed him up, students and teachers alike debating whether or not he was "the" Harry Potter, but it was easy enough to ignore as he sat on the chair and put the Hat on.

_Are you going to call me Potter too?_ he asked, not really hiding how miffed he was.

_Not at all, Mr. Fabre._ The Hat's voice was amused. _I figured you'd have run off by now. You're certainly resourceful enough._

_Not when I have wizards with me every moment of the day, _Luke groused.

_And you feel that you have a duty to young Mr. Malfoy_, the Hat noted. _How very Gryffindor of you. I should warn you, however, that the Headmaster is going to do everything in his power to keep you at the school. It will be very hard to get yourself expelled, and even if you manage, he will find ways to train you. _

Joy. Luke's plan to get out of the school just snowballed. _Then what do you suggest?_

The Hat seemed to shrug. _Do what's expected of you, gain trust. It will be that much easier to get away when the time comes. However, I would ask that you remain here as long as you can. Forgive this hat for saying so, but the knowledge you gain may help you defeat that man Van._

Luke… hadn't thought of that. _You're right_, he admitted grudgingly. _So. Where do you want me to stay until I've learned everything I need to?_

The Hat chuckled. _That's the spirit! And take the fact to heart that no matter what anyone calls you, you are who you think you are. As long as you see yourself as Luke fon Fabre, that is who you will be._

It was an oddly comforting gesture, some of the child noble's anger ebbing away. _Thanks. I needed that._

He'd been on the stool for nearly as long as Draco had been and the whispering was intensifying. _So! With that out of the way, I know exactly where to put you. Do take care of young Mr. Malfoy. You've done him some good already but it's still too early to know how he'll end up. He should have gone to Slytherin,_ the Hat confided, _but you planted some thoughts in his head and in that House he would have disregarded them. We need a Malfoy on the side of light_.

_I'll take care of him_, Luke promised.

_Very well. Then you shall end up in_ "Gryffindor!" the Hat shouted. Luke slipped off the stool and set the Sorting Hat reverently on the stool, whispering his thanks to the ragged cloth. Ignoring the cheers that had erupted around him he strode to the table that was cheering the loudest, finding a spot close to where Draco was seated at the Ravenclaw table. A few of his new housemates offered their congratulations but instead of replying, he poked the quiet blonde.

"Hey."

Draco glanced at him, scowling. "It's your fault," he hissed. "I should have gone to Slytherin but I actually listened to you and now look where I am!"

Luke gave a lopsided grin, surprised to find that he didn't have to fake it. "At least you're not a 'bloody Gryffindor'."

"You would end up there," Draco snorted.

"And hey, you're not in Hufflepuff either. I'd say you got the best part of this little deal." Lightly he punched the other in the shoulder. "So cheer up!"

Draco snorted and turned his interest to the Sorting. Luke, however, thought he caught a hint of a smile on the other's face.

Still ignoring the children attempting to strike up a conversation with him he tuned out the rest of the Sorting. He wasn't feeling very hungry when the tables filled with food of their own accord, too distracted by his thoughts and anger at the world in general. He had to force himself to eat a few bites of a turkey that tasted like paste in his mouth, the water he chased it down with chilling. It was a relief when the food vanished and, after Albus spoke a few words about a forbidden corridor on the third floor, he was led to the Gryffindor dormitories.

The common room was decorated with red and gold, armchairs, couches, and tables strewn about in a seemingly random manner. Stairs led up to the dorms, the girls' up one set and the boys' another, and the room Luke and the other first years were shown to had five beds arranged in a circle, much like the spokes of a wheel.

Ron caught his arm as he made his way to the bed his trunk had ended up in front of. "You doing okay with all this, mate?" he asked when Luke turned his attention to him. "I know English isn't your first language so you know, if you have trouble understanding anything just let me know."

Too tired to be angry and just wanting to flop down into a mattress Luke shot him a glare. "I'm fine."

The redhead winced. "Sheesh, I'm trying to help. Let me know when the bees come out of your bum." Grumbling, he made his way to his bed and drew the curtains about himself. Luke didn't understand the phrase, which made him even more annoyed. After changing into the pajamas Molly had bought for him (with his money) he flopped into bed, tucking the practice sword against his arm, and lay in the dark for a long time before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

School was much different than the private tutoring Luke had received at home, he soon found out. Waking when the sun rose, he spent an hour practicing the sword in the common room before showering and heading to breakfast. The classes were much duller than the noble remembered them being, even if they were subjects he'd never heard of. His tutors had had the time and patience to explain everything to him, waiting until he fully understood the material before moving on. This time the teacher lectured to the whole class, asking a few cursory questions but otherwise not really seeing if his or her students understood the material. Luke, used to viewing magic as simply the manipulation of fonons, had a hard time wrapping his brain around the wizarding version of magic. Waving a wand and having something happen? It was so unlike the magic Luke knew that, even though he understood that it was possible, he took far longer than the rest of the class to master the basics.

His favorite class, strangely enough, was Potions. Severus Snape was a condescending, spiteful, and greasy man that Luke disliked immediately. However, the potions brewing wasn't so foreign as Transfiguration that the noble had a hard time with it. No, the only bad thing about the class was having Snape breathing down his neck and mocking him at every turn for being Harry Potter. His temper simmered under the surface until one class where he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

Snape was going on a long diatribe about Luke's supposed father James and the ridicule he brought on Gryffindor House. Even if he didn't know any James and even if Duke Fabre was a cold man who'd only shown the barest hints of love to Luke, the Fabre heir's patience finally snapped when his family's honor was stepped on one time too many, and it was only their second Potions class!

"Professor Snape," he interrupted the other man, standing and resting his hand on his wooden sword. As in Diagon Alley no one seemed to notice the weapon until he brought attention to it, but once they saw it the whispering started at once. "I ask, if you would be so kind, if you could back up your claims with fact."

Snape shot him a look of cool disdain. "Your father was a coward and a bully. No doubt you take after him as well. Ten points from Gryffindor for standing in the middle of class."

House points, the reward system of the school, stopped bothering Luke once he realized how meaningless they were. "Professor Snape, that is a grave insult against my parents. By the customs of my kingdom I declare my family's honor impugned and demand a duel to settle the matter."

Snape, for his part, looked astounded at the prospect. "Don't be daft, Potter. You could never win against me. Another ten points for being an idiot and detention for talking back to a teacher."

Luke drew himself to his full height, drawing his sword and settling into his combat stance. In the back of his mind he knew he was being an idiot, but he was really tired of being compared to people he'd never met by a man like Snape. "Are you coward enough to insult my family's honor and not have the strength to defend your own?" he demanded.

The Professor sneered at him. "If you demand a fight, I suppose you shall have one. Don't hold me responsible for the consequences."

Luke stalked to the middle of the floor, then held his sword vertical, one hand against the flat of the blade, and bowed, the formal gesture customary before a duel. Snape had his wand out and bowed as well.

The outcome was predictable. Later that day, in the Hospital Wing coughing up all manner of insects, Luke couldn't help his grin. He'd gotten the Professor a good one on the head with his sword and the resident Healer was examining the large lump with a scowl.

He hoped he'd cracked the bastard's skull.

Aside from incidents like that Luke otherwise had no problems with the classes themselves. Being constantly behind the other students was frustrating for him, so used to excelling at anything he tried his hand at. It got to the point where he stopped caring that he wasn't at this school of his own will. He was determined to master this difficult and illogical subject.

There was only one class that made him uncomfortable. Even with Snape he knew the material and was able to get by, and after Luke's fearless challenge the Potions Master was treating him with a bit more respect. No, the class Luke had problems with was called Defense Against the Dark Arts. While he was in that class he found himself the object of Professor Quirrel's stare countless times. And when the timid man in his headscarf turned to the blackboard, a sharp pain would pierce Luke's lightning bolt scar.

After class he would eat dinner and retire to his hidden room, where he would spend the time until curfew practicing magic artes or doing his homework. He'd gotten better at gathering the needed fonons in a timely manner but he couldn't control too many at once. This meant that for the time being he was limited to casting only basic magic artes, like his first Fireball and a nonelemental one the books had called Energy Blast. That one formed a swirling vortex of energy that ripped a training dummy to shreds. The first time Luke cast the arte successfully he cheered before falling flat on his face.

In between all this he found time to spend with Draco Malfoy. The other's sour mood didn't last long and he seemed to be thriving in his House. He was still snarky but it wasn't nearly so bad as it had been on the train ride. Draco would spend hours talking to Luke about all the things he was learning in his House, things that sometimes had nothing to do with what was being taught. Ravenclaws, Luke soon learned, sought knowledge of all sorts, even if the knowledge wasn't of a strictly magical nature. Draco scoffed at the strange ideas the muggleborns brought with them, then looked at Luke like he'd grown a second head when the noble asked what a Muggle was.

It was one day in the library when Draco brought up the topic Luke had been hoping to avoid. They had their books open, Luke practicing wand movements and feeling how the magic fonons moved. The fonons Luke used were similar to the standard as far as he could tell so it wasn't like he was discovering a whole new element. Magic particles were mixed among the regular fonons and, if one didn't know what to look for, felt exactly the same too.

He spoke the spell and had the best view of a mini explosion in front of his face, another type of fonon mixing itself into Luke's spell at the last minute. Brows singed he glared at the piece of wood in his hands, wondering at the same time which element was mixing him up. He'd only been able to master the fifth fonon, the element of fire, and so was at a loss as to which fonon could be giving him so much trouble.

Draco wiped some of the soot from his nose and raised an eyebrow at his study partner. "Really?"he asked.

"It's not my fault your magic doesn't like me," the redhead grumbled, adding a few words in Ispanian under his breath that weren't very polite. "Let's come back to this when we're someplace that isn't flammable."

"Agreed. I'd rather like to keep my eyebrows." Draco flicked a few burned strands out of Luke's fringe and went digging for a less explosive subject to study. For his part Luke vowed to do some more research on fonons to try and find the problem.

"I was wondering something," the blonde said casually, glancing at the scar he'd uncovered with his actions. Luke, oblivious, just waved for the other to continue while he dug for an essay to show Draco. "When were you going to tell me you were Harry Potter?"

Luke's fingers clenched on the parchment, crumpling the essay in his hands. "I wasn't since I'm not him," he replied shortly. "I don't care what everyone else thinks."

"Did you know when we met?" Draco pressed, homework forgotten as he confronted Luke, face set in a scowl and his fists clenched. Luke was surprised at how angry the blonde was.

"Does it matter? You still call me Luke," the noble answered, a bit puzzled.

Draco glared. "It matters," he hissed, "because if my father finds out that I'm friends with Harry Potter then I'm going to be in trouble. I'm not sure if you know the things my father will do to me as punishment, but rest assured the likelihood of me returning after the Christmas holidays will be greatly lessened."

Oh. Maybe that had something to do with the rumors Luke had been hearing about Malfoy Sr. being a follower of Voldemort? It certainly wouldn't do for the legendary Harry Potter to be friends with one of the Dark Lord's followers, Luke mused.

"You can safely tell your father that you aren't friends with Harry Potter," Luke said. "If your friends from Slytherin tell him anything I'm sure you'll come up with an explanation. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not a hero who defeated a Dark Lord when I was an infant. I'm the son of a Duke who was mistaken for this Harry Potter."

Draco nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Not like you could defeat him anyway." And with that he dropped the subject entirely.

* * *

It was like that that Luke spent the first part of the school year. He ignored everyone who called him Harry except the teachers. They didn't have a choice in the matter, Minerva told him quite frankly when he butted heads with her in class one day. He was enrolled in school as Harry Potter and they were contractually bound to call him that. After that he tolerated it with clenched teeth.

Everyone else who called him Harry, or who asked to see the famous scar, was met with a glare and a few rude words in his native language. Soon word spread around and little by little he was left alone.

The nights grew colder far faster than Luke anticipated, the days shorter as well. He had to track down a few books and found, a bit chilled, that the years were much shorter where he was. This was an entirely different world, he concluded. Even if his father was looking for him there would be no way the Duke could find him.

He spent an entire day in his training room upon finding that out, venting his frustration on the inanimate dolls there, and refused to answer questions on his absence after that.

At least, he mused once his anger ebbed, he wouldn't miss his birthday this year.

He'd done enough research on Britain's customs to not be surprised when the castle was decorated with cobwebs and bats and pumpkins. He ignored it, for the most part – it wasn't his holiday. He tolerated everyone's enthusiasm with a patience he really didn't feel, relieved when Draco didn't push it on him.

At least the Halloween feast was impressive, sweets of all sorts decorating the tables. There was even, Luke was surprised to note, a few treats from his home. Upon seeing them he had to blink away tears, suddenly very homesick, and pressed Draco into trying the candies.

The night was going well when Professor Quirrel burst into the Great Hall, stammering about trolls in the dungeons before passing out in full view of everyone. It wouldn't have bothered Luke except suddenly Ron was frantically trying to get his attention.

"We have to go find her!" the redhead was stammering, tugging on Luke's arm insistently. "She went off to the bathroom to cry, she doesn't know about the danger!"

While the prefects were gathering their Houses together Luke dragged Draco into the Gryffindor line. "Start from the beginning, Weasley," he ordered shortly. "Who's in danger and why?"

Ron flushed guiltily. "Hermione. I said something to her and she ran off before dinner. She doesn't know there's a troll in the castle, what if it finds her? I can't let her get hurt, it's all my fault."

"The muggleborn?" Draco asked skeptically. Luke thought he knew who she was, the brunette who'd walked in on him in the train. She was the smartest student in their classes, even beating out the Ravenclaws. At Ron's nod the blonde snorted and started to say something scathing but was stopped by Luke.

"Yes, let's go find her," he said, hand on his sword. "It's the noble thing to do."

It was easy enough to sneak off, even Draco coming with them despite calling them idiotic and suicidal. Luke felt a bit proud of his friend; the blonde, when they'd first met, would have run in the opposite direction. It looked like he was having a positive influence on him after all.

And then there was no time for such thoughts. They neared the bathroom where Ron said he saw Hermione enter and found the Troll entering the same door. Not caring that three boys were running into the ladies' restroom they followed after it right after hearing Hermione's terrified scream.

"Draco, you and me distract it so Luke can get Hermione!" Ron ordered, wand raised. Luke dashed into the fray, ducking flying porcelain and streaming jets of water until he was crouched right next to the frightened girl.

"Come on!" he panted, dragging Hermione bodily up and shoving her towards the door. His voice attracted the troll's attention and he was forced to duck the swing of its giant club. His wooden sword was useless, he thought as he backed into the corner and drew his wand instead. But, he found, there were plenty of fourth fonons floating around thanks to the freely streaming water. He didn't have time to focus on a proper arte. Pure desperation fueled him as he channeled the fonons and dropped them right on the troll's head. The arte manifested as jagged spires of ice crashing down around them, not enough to kill anyone but enough to conk the troll on the head. As it stumbled around Ron cast a spell and ended up dropping its own club on its head.

The three Gryffindors and lone Ravenclaw traded glances before the teachers walked in. It was only thanks to Hermione's on the spot lie that saved them all from detention. Unfortunately Luke spoiled it by fainting, having used up too much of his energy on his hasty arte.

That night, after Luke had been released from the Hospital Wing and was on his way to bed, he was waylaid by Ron and Hermione by the stairs to the boys' dorms. Luke stared at Ron coolly until the redhead cleared his throat.

"Look, mate, I know we got off on the wrong foot," he said awkwardly. "Dad told me to try and make friends since he said you needed one. But I don't think I was trying to be the right friend. Even so you helped me when I asked and… what I'm trying to say is, want to try again?"

"Thanks for helping me," Hermione added. "I really appreciate it. I'd be dead without you."

Luke considered their words before deciding and offering his hand. "Luke fon Fabre. And you?"

Ron grinned. "Ron Weasley." He took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.

"Hermione Granger," the other added, doing the same.

Draco was less than enthusiastic about Luke's new friends. "They're idiots," he complained to the noble during their usual study session. "What could you possibly see in them?"

Luke, on the verge of figuring out which fonon kept making his spells explode on him, just shrugged. "Ron's a bit thick but he's the best at chess in the dorm. Hermione's the smartest out of all of us. At the very least they'll be valuable allies."

Draco shrugged. "I'll take your word for it."

And then it was Luke's birthday. He didn't tell anyone about it, not even Draco. Instead he took the day off and spent it in his training room, for once not training. Instead he indulged in the treats the room thoughtfully provided, a small cake and a new book for him to read. This one was about the Seventh Fonon and the Score, the prophecy that Auldrant followed to promised prosperity. It was in the middle of the third chapter that he suddenly realized what kept making his spells go wrong.

"The seventh fonon," he mused, indulging in his native language. "That would explain it." The way he was reading, the seventh fonon was made up of all of the others and they attracted each other. If he was unknowingly affecting the fonons around him when he tried to cast wizarding spells, that would explain the fonons that kept getting into his spells at the last minute.

Glancing at the training dummies, he grinned. "Thanks for letting me know," he said sincerely.

He spent the rest of that day learning the feel of the seventh fonon, experimentally gathering it and letting it dissipate. Once he was sure he could dissipate them he grabbed up his wand and tried a few spells. It took a bit more practice to keep the seventh fonon away but after a few tiny explosions and an accident involving levitation, a training dummy, and the fireplace, he flopped onto the mats and grinned.

The next day in class he astonished everyone by casting the spell without mishap.

* * *

Christmas was another holiday that Luke didn't celebrate. He didn't remember putting his name on the list to stay at the castle but there it was, next to Ron's and Hermione's. He'd spent time getting to know them since the troll incident, finding that when Ron wasn't deliberately trying to be his friend he had interesting takes on various problems. Hermione had her intelligence on her side but she was a bit too stern for Luke's liking. She liked to bother him about being away from the dorm so often and willingly skipping class. He soon learned to recognize when she was going into rant mode and vacate the area immediately.

Once the castle was empty Luke found himself at a loss. He trained in the sword, moving from the basics into learning strike artes, physical attacks augmented by manipulating the fonons around his weapon. It was very clumsy going and he ended up leaving more often than not with bruises that he had to explain away. He didn't even have Draco to keep him company; the blonde had returned to his home for the holiday.

He woke up Christmas morning when Ron opened the curtains on him and shook him awake. Cracking a green eye open, he glared at the redhead who only grinned at him in return.

"Where are you from that they don't celebrate Christmas?" Ron asked when Luke called him several vile things in Ispanian and rolled over onto a bruised side.

Still in the depths of sleep it took Luke just a moment to process the words and remember to speak English. "Far away," he snapped. "Now go away."

"But look, you've got presents too."

Seeing that he wasn't going back to sleep Luke groaned and gave in, sitting up and glaring at the pile of packages at the end of his bed. Ron was already in the middle of opening his, colored paper scattered everywhere around him.

Bemused, Luke picked up a package and looked at the sender, then opened up a book from Draco. It was about Muggle swords, he learned as he flipped through it to look at the various weapons presented there. He wondered where Draco would have gotten such a book from since he'd expressed his disdain for Muggles on multiple occasions. Setting aside the thoughtful gift he turned to the rest.

He opened up a box of sweets from the Weasley twins, a sweater with a large H embroidered on it from Molly Weasley, and another book from Hermione, this one about Harry Potter. The last package was from an unknown sender, wrapped in plain paper. Luke thought about tossing it to the side along with Mrs. Weasley's gift, but his curiosity was greater.

Silver cloth poured into his hand, spilling over it and onto the floor. It felt like nothing he'd had before, like wind infused into the finest cloth, and he could feel the sixth fonons woven into the cloth. Intrigued, he stood and shook out the cloth. It was, he figured out after a moment, a cloak made for a grown man. He wrapped it around his shoulders anyway, careful of the cloth dragging on the floor, and started at Ron's gasp.

"I can't believe it!" the redhead gaped. "It's an invisibility cloak!"

"An invisibility cloak?" Luke repeated, glancing down to find that his entire body, save his head, had disappeared. One hand held the cloak closed while he moved about, his other hand and feet ensuring that he was indeed still in one piece. "These must not be that rare."

"Are you kidding? They're nearly impossible to find nowadays. Was there a note?" Ron hunted through the scraps of paper until he found a small, folded square of paper and handed it to Luke.

Letting the cloak fall to the floor, the noble regarded the carefully written words. _This was left in my care after your father's passing_, it read. _He would have wished you to have it. Use it well_.

The note wasn't signed but there was something familiar about the words. After a moment's puzzling he shrugged, tucking the note into his trunk. "It'll be useful," he said to himself in Ispanian while he cleared up the remnants of wrapping paper. After all, he could get to his hidden room much easier if he wasn't seen.

Dinner that night was a loud affair. Luke found himself forced into a seat at the lone table occupying the normally cluttered Great Hall, Ron on one side and an anonymous Ravenclaw on the other, Hermione across. The Weasley twins were livening up the party, setting off small explosions from things Luke had never seen the likes of but were obviously magical in nature and mostly harmless. The first time they'd set one off behind him had been more painful for them, he mused darkly while only interacting with his two friends. The redheaded twins were sporting singed brows from a burst of seventh fonons that Luke hadn't meant to make explode in their faces, really. He was just wound up from the party honoring a holiday he didn't celebrate, even if the presents were nice.

The second time they did it to him, the fireball _was_ on purpose. Everyone gaped at him after the arte, even the friends he hadn't mentioned his skills to. Deliberately, stamping on his anger with all of the control his father had attempted to teach him, he went back to his food and the interrupted discussion with Hermione on the benefits of Muggle science or magic.

It was Dumbledore that livened the mood. "A very nice trick," he said glibly. "You've been practicing your wandwork, then." A blatant lie, Luke knew. The headmaster was well aware that the noble's artes weren't the work of wizard magic. "I didn't even see your wand!"

Luke snorted, standing from the table and putting his wand in full view. "That's because I didn't use it," he retorted. At several disbelieving looks he sighed, tossed Ron his wand, and summoned a spout of water to soak the annoying elder wizard from head to toe. "As you well know," he grumbled, turning and leaving his meal half-finished. "Bastard," he finished, this time in Ispanian.

No one stopped him as he left the Great Hall, his mood souring with every step. All throughout the day Hermione and Ron had been trying to educate him about this holiday, the celebration of family and some Muggle religion. In all honesty he didn't care. These celebrations were only serving to remind him that he wasn't back home. There would be no one to celebrate his holidays when they came around, if he could reconcile the shortened year in this world and figure out when they were.

He spent the rest of the night in his secret room, attempting to forget everything. He'd already trained that day, so he curled up on a mat with a book and lost himself in the epic tale of a bard attempting to circumvent the Score and save a woman doomed to die. It had romance and fighting and the sense of fighting against the impossible, a feeling Luke was all-to-familiar with. It ended tragically; attempting to circumvent the Score ended up causing the woman's death.

That reminded Luke that he hadn't heard his Score read this year; back home, everyone had their Score for the following year read on their birthday. It was done for luck and to plan on what was going to happen; a woman told she would have a child would be able to get everything ready for that day. The only Scores that weren't read were those foretelling deaths, for who would want to go into a new year knowing they would die?

Heart even heavier, he returned to his dorm room and curled up in bed. Ron and Hermione tried to cheer him up but he ignored them, unable to stop the tears from tracing themselves down his cheeks. All he could think of was his mother, wonder how she was doing and pray that her health hadn't declined in his absence. She had always been fragile, he remembered. When he'd broken his arm she had been bedridden until a seventh fonist could come and heal him. If an injury could leave her so ill, what would his disappearance have done?

* * *

New Year's came and went, and soon classes started once again. With the problem of his spells exploding settled, Luke was no longer in the back of his class. He wasn't nearly as good as Hermione, but at least he wasn't ensconced in a small area by himself anymore. One of his classmates wasn't so lucky, and he had to wonder if maybe Seamus was a seventh fonist as well. There was no way to tell.

Draco returned from break a bit more reticent than when he'd left. Once Luke managed to trap him in the library, the Ravenclaw admitted that Malfoy Senior wasn't too happy with Draco befriending a Gryffindor at all. It only took a few minutes of Luke yelling at him to get his point across: your friends are your own. Shortly after he got kicked out of the library and didn't know what Draco had decided.

He was glad when, the very next day, Draco was back to his old self. He still didn't like associating himself with Hermione or Ron, but he was friendly to Luke, at least.

One month led to the next; Luke was still getting the hang of the strange days and months but thought they were heading into February. One night he was stumbling back from his secret room, a new textbook on fonic artes clutched in his arms, when Draco accosted him on the stairs to the Gryffindor dormitory.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Luke asked, just a tad sleepily. It was past curfew and if they got caught they'd both end up in detention. Mentally he lamented forgetting that wicked awesome invisibility cloak he'd gotten for Christmas.

"I was wandering around just now, exploring, and I found something pretty cool that I thought you should see!" Draco was much more animated than usual, his customary scowl replaced with an excited grin. Luke knew it took something exceptional to get Draco like this and his curiosity was piqued.

"Lead the way then!" Luke decided, tucking his book under his arm.

Draco led him into the unused parts of the castle, parts that Luke had forgone exploring after one trick door too many. The redhead still had nightmares about getting lost in this area for nearly a whole day. It had taken Remus coming to look for him to escape.

"You can get back out of here, right?" he asked only a bit nervously.

"Of course! It's just this way." Draco stopped by a door and held it open for Luke.

The first thing the noble saw was a giant mirror dominating the room. Draco pushed him towards it, the door clicking shut behind them. "It's a mirror," Luke deadpanned, stopping just short of seeing his reflection. He scrutinized it, seeing letters traced into the frame, but Draco caught his attention before he could try and puzzle them out.

"It's not just a mirror," the blonde told him. "It's… well, just look in it!"

Since Draco wasn't going to explain, Luke sighed and stepped forward, scrutinizing himself in the mirror. He expected to see a simple reflection, him dressed in robes staring back with accusatory eyes.

The book under his arm thunked to the floor. Luke stepped closer, placing a hand on the reflection that wasn't. The figure in the mirror looked so very happy, was dressed in the clothes that he'd been wearing on his first kidnapping. The white shirt with gold trim was so much warmer than the drab black robes he'd been constantly wearing lately.

The Luke in the mirror smiled at him, then turned to the side. Luke's breath caught in his throat as a familiar figure came into view. "Mother," he whispered, crowding up as close to the mirror as he could. "Mother!"

The redheaded woman in the mirror smiled and embraced the mirror-Luke, smothering him in a hug that Luke would almost swear he could feel. He wanted to be there in the mirror, wanted to be the mirror-self meeting his mother again.

Luke had to force himself away from the mirror, not realizing that there were tears tracing wet tracks down his cheeks until he had to curl up in a corner and sob. Draco hovered nearby, trying to ask him what was wrong, but Luke wasn't processing the English words. That mirror had dragged everything he'd been wanting, everything he'd been worrying about, out of his mind and slapped him in the face with it.

It was ages before he was able to stifle his sobs and uncurl, though he remained on the hard stone floor for ages longer. Draco sat down next to him, silently offering support but otherwise giving up on asking for now.

A few moments later, and Luke took a deep breath. "I saw my mother," he admitted, eyes stinging. "She was waiting for me and she was healthy and I looked just as I always had. I looked so happy and was wearing my old outfit and Mother was happy to see me. I don't want to be here!" he yelled at the ceiling, at Hogwarts itself. "I want to go home, I want to see Natalia and Mother and even Father again."

Draco didn't say anything, just put a hand on his arm. After a moment Luke sniffled and sighed. "Sorry."

"I saw Mother and Father both smiling at me," Draco said. "They never do, you know, they always scowl at me and push me to do better. Since I was Sorted into Ravenclaw they don't even look at me so much, anymore… I think I'm a failure to them. All I want is for them to accept me even as a Ravenclaw, I don't want them to think I'm a failure."

"Mother gets sick easily," Luke sighed. "She probably doesn't even know what happened to me, and I'm worried that she'll have…" He swallowed.

"She's fine," Draco assured him. He looked like he had to think about what he was saying, and the effort he was putting into it made Luke smile a bit. He'd lucked out with a true friend in Draco. "I mean, I can't know she's fine, I'm no seer, but I'm sure she is. She has to be, right?"

"Yeah," the redhead allowed. "I have to believe that she's fine. If she's not…" And his green eyes darkened. "If she's not, I'll take my revenge on everyone who caused me to be away from her. Van, Albus… they will pay."

They sat together in the darkened room for a long time before Draco stood. "Well, I should be getting back to the dormitory," the blonde muttered. "Still have loads of homework to do and all that."

Luke nodded. "I'll come with you. If we get caught, we'll get detention together."

"You don't have to do that," Draco protested.

Luke grinned. "That's what friends are for, right?"

They left the cursed mirror behind and started on the long walk back to their dormitories. Luke wouldn't walk Draco all the way back to the Ravenclaw dormitories, just like Draco wouldn't walk Luke back to Gryffindor. There was one point, however, where the two could part ways and have a relatively short walk back to their dorms. It was there that they started walking to, sharing a companionable silence.

They were nearly to the third floor and their goal when they saw a shadow on the wall and tensed. "Uh-oh," Draco whispered. "That looks like Mrs. Norris."

"We don't have to make it easy on her," Luke said wryly, backing away. "See any way out?"

"There's a door over here," Draco noted, tugging on the noble's arm. "Come on!"

They dashed down the third-floor corridor to the door, which didn't budge.

"Oh, bother… Alohomora!" Draco said impatiently, touching the lock with his wand. It opened and the two ducked through, listening at the door. "Can you hear them?"

Luke listened, tracing a set of human footsteps on the cold stone. "I hear Filch," he whispered, straining his ears. "He's right nearby… he's past… stop growling, Malfoy!"

Draco tensed next to him. "I'm not growling."

As one they turned. "Yulia help us," Luke whispered. "Get back through the door, Malfoy!"

The giant, three-headed dog growled again, heads leaning forward eagerly. Its black fur rippled with every movement of giant muscle under its fur, each head full of glistening teeth. Luke drew his sword, the wooden blade looking pathetic compared to massive claws tapping against the stone floor. He could hear Draco behind him, swearing as he rattled the locked door.

The massive dog lunged.

Luke's collar jerked and he was dragged backwards, once again out in the corridor and gasping for breath. There was a thud against the closed door, like something massive had decided to try getting out of it, followed by scratching.

"What the bloody hell is that giant menace doing in a school?" Draco gasped. "Dumbledore is insane!"

Luke didn't particularly want to defend the elderly headmaster. "I'm going to go to my room and pretend I didn't see that," he vowed, picking himself up off the floor.

Draco snorted. "Good luck. See you tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow."

* * *

Luke really wanted to forget about that damned mirror, that giant dog that had nearly claimed his and Draco's lives. Hogwarts seemed to have other things in mind, however, and one night a week later he found himself in that same part of the castle when he'd been on his way back to the dorms.

He didn't realize just how lost he was until he turned a corner and saw, through a half-open door, the frame of the mirror that had shown him his mother. He froze for a moment, wondering which trick stairway he'd forgotten about this time. Then, almost against his will, he found himself drawn forward. Without realizing just how it had happened he found himself in front of that mirror again, staring with longing at happy him in the pane and the red-haired woman showering him with love and affection.

"What do you see in the mirror?" Albus' voice came from behind him. Luke turned away, scowling to hide the tears that wanted to trickle down his cheeks.

"You should know," Luke shot back heatedly. "I told you what I wanted the first day I got here."

"Your place is here," the elder wizard said gently. "You were always meant to be here, in this school. I've read about the Score in your world, and only wish there was a way to access it here. Maybe then you could see that this is what is supposed to happen."

"My place is there!" Luke contended fiercely. The child noble whirled to point at the woman in the mirror. "I am meant to marry the Princess of Kimlasca and take the throne so I can lead my people into prosperity. I can't do that here!"

"That is the greatest gift, and curse, of this mirror," Albus sighed. "The mirror of Erised shows us what we most deeply desire. Human nature, however, shows us that what we want is not always what we need. There have been those who have wasted their lives before this mirror admiring what they've seen in it."

"I didn't mean to come back here," Luke admitted mournfully. "I wanted to forget about the mirror, even if I can finally see my mother's face again…"

"Then you are wiser than most," Albus said approvingly. "Your friend Draco is as well; he's been back only once since he first found the mirror. However, I do advise that you get your fill of it tonight. It will be finding a new home tomorrow."

Luke nodded. "I should be going anyway," he muttered self-consciously. "It's almost curfew."

A book appeared in Albus' hands and he offered it to Luke. "Be sure not to forget your possessions next time you wander," the elder advised kindly.

With a shock, Luke recognized the book as the one he'd forgotten when he'd visited the mirror the first time. Luckily it was in Ispanian; if Albus had any idea of the book's true content it was likely Luke wouldn't have seen it again.

Luke took the book and bowed. "Thank you, and good night." Without looking back he made a hasty exit. The castle took pity on him this time around, and he found his way back to the dormitory with only two wrong turns.

* * *

Luke soon discovered another holiday he could grow to hate when February 14th rolled around and the castle was decorated in shades of pastel pink and red. That in itself wasn't too horrible; Luke could ignore that well enough and go to classes as normal. No, what cemented this day as one to be avoided in the future was the number of owls that bombarded him during breakfast, each holding a scented pink envelope in its talons.

"What in the Fon Master's name is all of this?" he exasperatedly asked a giggling Hermione. Ron had to help him gather all of the envelopes so he could start eating breakfast again, while behind him Draco sniggered. The blonde had his own pile of pink envelopes to sort through and didn't seem put off in the slightest.

"You don't have Valentine's Day where you're from?" Hermione asked. "Well, I wish I would have known or I'd have warned you. It's a day where people can admit their feelings to their true love without fear of reprisal or scorn. At least in theory, anyway. A lot of the love confessions are anonymous."

"But why me?" Luke wondered, eying his pile of the pink envelopes. "I'm engaged, and it's not like I go out of my way to be friendly to everyone!" He actively avoided everyone and everything, especially since some people still called him Harry. Most of the student body had learned that he would not respond to anything but his name, whether it be "Fabre" from Draco or "Luke" from everyone else. Still, he was determined to think of his time at Hogwarts as only temporary; he'd get back home and put all of this wizarding nonsense behind him, and that would be that.

All heads within earshot turned to look at him, and he scowled. "What did I say this time?"

"You're engaged?" a Ravenclaw asked him. By her guilty flush, Luke surmised that one of the letters in his stack was hers.

"I am," Luke confirmed. "It's an arranged marriage," he added as an afterthought. "But me and Natalia are good friends."

The whispering around the table started in earnest and he sighed. "I'll see you all later," he said to Ron, Hermione, and Draco. "Don't bother looking for me."

That was what he told them when he'd be spending the day in his secret room rather than attending classes. He got an earful from Hermione about skipping and a bemoaning sigh from Ron. Luke's redhead friend wished that he could vanish without a trace without reprisals.

One day, Luke decided as he abandoned his school satchel in the dormitory and ascended to the seventh floor. If he were still here and he could be sure that his secret room would stay secret, he would tell his friends about it. For right now, he wasn't sure Ron wouldn't tell his father about it, and then Arthur would tell Albus. Once Albus knew that Luke was practicing with real weapons and learning deadly fonic artes, the noble knew he would be locked up. He'd only be let out for classes and then he'd be confined to Gryffindor tower. None of his captors would allow him to be powerful, Luke thought darkly. Van, Albus… they were both the same. They only wanted him to use for their own schemes.

He channeled those dark thoughts into a furious training session wherein he practiced alternating strike artes and fonic artes. By the end of the day all of the training dummies were ash and Luke was covered in bruises from his many falls, but he felt better for it.

So long as he had this room, he could get powerful. He'd get strong enough that Albus couldn't hold him, that Van wouldn't dare kidnap him again. He would get home, and then he would put this unpleasant business behind him and resume learning what he would need to know to rule a kingdom.

* * *

The days were starting to warm again when Luke walked into the common room and found Ron and Hermione huddled over a table that was covered in papers. They'd been doing that nearly constantly since they'd visited Hagrid the past week or so, and Luke usually left them to it in favor of showering or reading. His secret room had been stocking more books on the seventh fonon recently and the redhead took that as a sign that he should start working on controlling it.

Luke was on his way past them when Hermione snagged his sleeve and dragged him over to the table. This wasn't so unusual as well; Hermione was convinced that Luke wasn't doing his homework (she was right) and sometimes forced him to sit down and work on it. However, when Luke took a seat at the table, he found that they weren't working on homework at all.

The first thing he saw was a newspaper clipping about a theft from Gringotts, dated during the summer. Then there were pages copied from textbooks or in some cases ripped out, and in the middle of them all was a page of notes marked liberally with red. "What am I looking at here?" he asked.

"Just read through all of it. It's just so crazy but if you think the same thing, then…"

With a shrug, Luke picked up the closest piece of paper and started reading.

It took him an hour, but after studying every page carefully he nodded. "This Philosopher's Stone is here, at Hogwarts." He looked up at Hermione's triumphant expression, Ron's resigned look. "And you think Professor Snape is after it."

"Right! We tried to tell Professor Dumbledore but he had to run into London," Hermione said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. "If Snape's after that stone then tonight's the best chance for him to try. We have to stop him!"

"We don't even know where it is, 'mione," Ron objected. "It could be anywhere in the castle!"

"It's in the forbidden third floor corridor," Luke told them. At their blank looks he grinned. "Why else would there be a giant three-headed dog there?"

They blinked at him for a few minutes. "You didn't tell us about that!" Ron said accusingly.

"Gee, let me think. Giant monster dog. You think I'd tell you so you could go get munched?" Luke deadpanned. "I was trying to forget about it, anyway. It was worse than the troll."

"Now we know where he's heading!" Hermione cheered. "Quick, we have to go after him!"

"Snape won't try anything until tonight," Luke guessed. "During the day there are too many witnesses. We have time to prepare and get Draco to come with us."

Ron and Hermione didn't look enthusiastic about that idea, but they nodded nonetheless. "We'll meet outside the common room tonight, then. Luke, good luck getting Draco."

Luke nodded. "See you tonight."

Luke didn't just stop and talk to Draco and enlist his help. He stopped by his secret room and traded in his wooden sword for a real one, knowing that anything they found on the way to the Philosopher's Stone wouldn't be impressed by mere wood. The room seemed to know what he had planned, as it always did, and had selected a suitable sword for him, similar in size to the wooden one. Luke wasn't hindered by the new weight at his side as he went in search of Draco.

After explaining the situation to the blonde in the library, all that was left to do was to wait.

* * *

It took Luke a few minutes to remember the chain of events that had brought him face to face with the monster currently in front of him. In between the screaming pain of his scar and him trying to remember his training, he reminded himself just what he'd lost to get here. Ron was badly hurt, probably dead, in a room scattered with broken chess pieces. Draco had been assaulted by a swarm of maniacal flying keys, and the last that had been seen of him was his bleeding form fleeing through a window. Hermione was trapped by magical flames, unable to escape and all alone. They had sacrificed everything to give him this chance, and here he was, blowing it.

Professor Quirrel waved his wand and Luke's wand flew from his hand, clattering off to the side somewhere. The redhead scowled, head throbbing, and went for his sword instead. A spell passed a fraction of an inch from him and he flinched.

"Don't try anything funny, Potter," the professor purred. "Come forward, now, don't hesitate. Tell me, do you know the secret of this mirror?"

Luke glared at the mirror that had given him far too many nightmares than he'd care to admit. "It shows you what you want," he answered. "Dumbledore must have a crappy sense of humor if he put it here." Without really wanting to he walked forward so that he was within arm's reach, ever mindful of the wand pointed at him.

"Why don't you get in there and look, hm? Tell me what you see."

Luke didn't want to. He knew he'd see his mother and it would make his heart hurt, would only serve to remind him that he wasn't home. But the wand was a good motivator and, reluctantly, he stepped into the mirror's view.

He ignored the prickle of tears. His mother was caressing the mirror-him's cheek, though oddly he was dressed in the very same clothes the real him was wearing. The dirtied jeans and gold shirt contrasted sharply with his mother's clean gown, adding to the surreality of the situation. Entranced, he watched.

Luke's mother ruffled his hair, brushed the tears from his cheeks, and spoke to him. He couldn't hear the words, but he could see her lips move. He thought she said, "I'm proud of you, and I love you." It was what he wanted more than anything to hear his mother say again.

Then things turned stranger. His mother took something from her pocket and slipped it into his, and he thought he saw her say, "Take good care of this, my dear." That wouldn't have been strange, except Luke could feel the weight of the object settle into his pocket.

Quirrel poked him sharply. "What do you see?" he demanded.

"I saw my mother," Luke admitted, refraining from adding the "you idiot" that so wanted to spill from his lips. "I wish I didn't see her, because I wish I was with her." He stepped away, hating that he didn't have to fake wiping the tears from his eyes. "Happy?"

Quirrel shoved him away so he could look in the mirror. Temporarily forgotten about, Luke set about searching for his wand. He thought it had fallen over here…

Then a voice issued from seemingly nowhere. "He lied to us, he has the stone! Search him!"

Luke's hand closed on his wand and he scooped it up, though he didn't bring it to bear. Instead he gathered a handful of fonons and sent them right at Quirrel's face. The professor swore and skipped backwards, a spell blasting from the end of his wand that whistled past Luke's ear. Luke drew his sword and charged at the other man, driven by adrenaline and fear and the determination that he wouldn't die.

The disembodied voice called for Quirrel to stand up, to kill Luke, but the child was faster. He didn't even register what he'd done until he was staring at the unmoving body on the floor, his sword clattering to the ground because his bloodied fingers couldn't hold it. Red splashed over his clothes, his face, his hair, and fanned out on the ground around him.

Luke, desperate to stop Quirrel, had run his sword through him. Now he stared at the man, wide eyes not really understand what had happened. He knew that he was training so he could kill people. He'd seen people die; Van had murdered the knights protecting him, had picked him up with bloodstained hands and shoved him in that hole in the ground. He knew what it was that he'd intended to do, but now he realized that he didn't understand just what it meant to take someone's life.

His legs failed him and he fell to the floor, where he stayed until Dumbledore and others barreled into the room to find him. Woodenly he told them what had gone on, retrieved the blood-red stone from his pocket and handed it over.

Something was pressed into his hands, a cup of warm liquid, and, uncaring, he drained it. He didn't even mind when warm blackness dragged him down.

* * *

When he awoke, the sun was just rising. He hadn't dreamt at all that night and for a moment he was confused about where he was. Then the white ceiling and curtained beds registered and he realized that he was in the Hospital Wing.

"You all right, Luke?" a voice asked from next to him. The redhead looked over to see Draco looking at him. The blonde bore no signs of the vicious assault he'd endured at the hands of enchanted keys, and Luke felt relief. But remembering that brought back the rest of it and he felt sick suddenly.

"I guess not," Ron's voice observed. "Just make sure to hit the bucket, mate."

A few minutes later Luke was sipping water and sending Ron his best glare. Draco, despite the circumstances, was snickering quietly behind his hand.

"What happened?" Ron asked. "Dumbledore won't tell us what happened but you were covered in blood. They said you weren't hurt, though…"

Luke was relieved when he realized he was wearing pajamas rather than his bloodstained clothes. "Quirrel was the one behind everything, not Snape," he admitted. "He tried to kill me, so I killed him first." His stomach clenched when he said the last part but he determinedly swallowed. "I'm sorry I killed him, but…"

A hand on his arm startled him and he turned to look at Draco, who had slipped out of bed to comfort him. "He was trying to kill you, and you had no choice," the blonde said bluntly. "But killing people isn't something you should be happy about. Your remorse means you're human. Don't lose that."

Luke felt a bit better; knowing that he was supposed to feel terrible about killing someone was strangely comforting. Although, he wondered just where Draco had gotten that knowledge.

"Young Mr. Malfoy is quite correct," a new voice put in. Luke glared at the smiling Headmaster, hand spasming where his sword hilt usually was. "Though I do wish that circumstances had been different. Where did you get the sword, Harry?"

"It doesn't matter, since you have it now," Luke said bitterly. "What's going to happen to the Philosopher's Stone?"

"It's been destroyed. Quirrel was acting at the behest of the Dark Lord; if he'd gotten the Stone, he'd have been able to revive the Dark Lord and… well. It won't happen now so it's best not to dwell on it." Dumbledore smoothed his robes. "You won't be bothered about defending yourself, Harry, I will personally see to it. However, under the circumstances, I feel it best to keep your swords until you're older."

"You can't!" Luke cried, correctly assuming that Dumbledore was going to take his wooden sword from him as well. He shook off Draco's hand and tried to get to his feet, but he got tangled up in the blankets and ended up falling to the floor. Giving up, he at least dragged his torso upright to glare at the headmaster. "You're going to go back on your word, Headmaster?"

"You've left me no choice. I never intended for you to know what it is to kill, Harry. Now all I can do is ensure you never can again." Dumbledore looked remorseful.

"I'll help him," Draco said bravely. "You know You-Know-Who is going to try to kill Luke, even if he's just a spirit right now. Knowing him, he'll find out how to bring himself back to life, and then Luke's going to be in danger. He's my friend, and I refuse to leave him defenseless. If you won't get him a sword, Headmaster, I will."

"I agree. Without that sword, Quirrel would have killed Luke," Ron pointed out. "It's not fair to leave him defenseless like that."

Dumbledore regarded both boys while Luke disentangled himself and climbed back into bed. "It is good to know that he has such loyal friends," he said after a moment. "Your point is made. But Harry, promise me that you won't wield real swords until such time as I tell you. You're still so young, and I don't want you to have to bear that burden."

"I will promise to try, Headmaster," Luke nodded. "But if a situation arises and I require a weapon… I won't back down." He still felt a bit sick and knew he'd have nightmares, but he also knew that he'd have to kill in the future. He was going to kill Van, he'd sworn to. And if Dumbledore had a hand in his mother's death by keeping him here…

Luke purposely put that thought to the back of his mind.

"As you cannot predict the future, I will accept that, for now." Dumbledore didn't look pleased, but at least he'd agreed. "It's time for me to take my leave, however, as it seems you all have visitors. I'll see you all in the Great Hall."

* * *

Luke, Ron, and Draco were released from the Hospital Wing at the end of that day. Hermione had come to keep them all company, as she'd been the only one to escape their little adventure unscathed. She brought with her a multitude of goodies from other members of their House. Draco wasn't left to the wayside, either; some friends from Ravenclaw had dropped in on them as well.

Luke did have nightmares, but by the end of the school year they had mostly faded. Exams and preparing to depart Hogwarts distracted him, and then it was time to leave.

Him, Ron, Hermione, and Draco were sitting in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, playing and laughing and just generally pretending that nothing eventful had happened in the year. Secreted away in his trunk, Luke had several books to hold him over for the summer. He wasn't planning on neglecting his training, as the wooden sword tucked next to his trunk attested.

But it wasn't near him; in the train compartment, Luke didn't feel like he needed to have it at hand. He felt safe without it. That was a refreshing feeling and he was cheerful throughout the trip.

Finally, though, the train pulled into the station. Luke was dressed in clothes that Hermione described as Muggle – more jeans, a t-shirt proclaiming that London was the best place on Earth, and some strange shoes she called sneakers. They felt heavy on his feet and he eyed them distastefully, but they were comfortable.

Disembarking the train was hard. Molly Weasley immediately tried to smother him, and he dodged with grace, purposely not twitching towards the sword that was once again on his waist. She looked disappointed but turned her attention to Ron instead.

"I'll write you," Draco promised Luke. "Even if my father doesn't approve."

"I'll return the favor," Luke grinned. "See you next year."

* * *

That's it for book one! I'll post book 2 once I finish it - although I may hold off and finish Book 3 at the same time since (due to plot reasons) not much will be happening. I hope people are enjoying this so far. It's quite fun to write! So, I'll see everyone next time!


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